"Say, mon vieux, what is your name?" asked Colonel Girault.
"Gaston de Nérac, mon Colonel."
"Connais pas," murmured the Colonel, turning away.
"Exalted rank makes Gigi Girault forget the lessons of humility he learned in the Café Delphine."
Colonel Girault stood with mouth agape. Then he laughed and threw himself into the arms of the dilapidated sentry.
"Mon Dieu! It is true. It is Paragot!"
Then afterwards: "And what can I do for you, mon vieux?"
"Nothing," said Paragot. "The bon Dieu has done everything. He has allowed me to be a soldier of France in my old age."
And Colonel Girault told me that he asked for news of the little Asticot—a painter who ought by now to be famous. Paragot replied:
"He is over there, killing Boches for his old master."