I coughed as freely as I could; but he found me all right, and said again:
"Look at his color. How good his blood must be!"
Then I, seeing that they would pass me if I remained silent, replied: "I have drank vinegar." "Ah!" said he; "that proves you have a good stomach; you like vinegar."
"But I am lame!" I cried in my distress.
"Bah! don't grieve at that," he answered; "your leg is sound. I'll answer for it."
"But that," said Monsieur the Mayor, "does not prevent his being lame from birth; all Phalsbourg knows that."
"The leg is too short," said the surgeon from the hospital; "it is doubtless a case for exemption."
"Yes," said the Mayor; "I am sure that this young man could not endure a long march; he would drop on the road the second mile."
The first surgeon said nothing more.
I thought myself saved, when Monsieur the Sous-Préfet asked: "You are really Joseph Bertha?"