Achille found in his tail pocket surely the oldest and most faded of leather pocket-books. From this in turn he produced a piece of A.S.C. sacking, on which the word OATS was plainly printed in black.
“Voila!” said the Maire.
“Totally useless!” growled the Major, turning red.
This made the Maire furious; he grasped the intonation and expression if not the words.
“You others, you are enough to send one to sleep standing up. One produces the corroborative pieces and you treat them as useless.” And there followed a tirade during which Dormer drew the Major outside, with profuse Bonjours! He thought that Blanquart was trying to sign to him that he wanted to say something to him privately. But the Major was upset, his dignity was hurt. A soldier by profession, he had reduced the settlement of claims to a fine art. He was said to have settled three thousand between the time he was made A.P.M. to the division on the Aisne to the day of his death at Bailleul. He told the chauffeur to drive to Vanderlynden’s. The man seemed to know the way, and had probably been to the place many times. As the car jolted and ground over the cobbles into the yard, Dormer said:
“I shall ask for the daughter, Madeleine.”
“Just so!”
“I don’t believe——”
“Nor do I,” said the Major stoutly.
Neither of them could pronounce the word “rape.”