“Ah! it’s you, Bouin,” he said coolly. “Well, you’ve got to do four days’ imprisonment. You begin at noon.” “But, sir,” I said, “while my name is Bouin--Bouin, Léon--and----” He cut me short. “It doesn’t matter what your Christian name is. There was no Christian name on the list. You have seen the name Bouin: you’ve only got to carry out----” “But, sir, the times I go on duty have been definitely fixed for the last two weeks. I haven’t noticed----” The man jumped to his feet, and I saw he was short--almost ridiculously short. He came towards me angrily, sputtering into his moustache. “A punishment has been ordered. Some one has got to take it; and it’s you who’ve got to do so. What is your profession?” “A teacher of mathematics, and a volunteer.” He added in a tense voice: “It doesn’t follow that because you are not a conscript you’re going to be cock of the walk here. Besides, men of education like yourself ought to be an example to the others. Follow my advice, and do your four days, my boy.” “But, _Monsieur l’officier_----” “You do as I advise you. This is not the moment, when the enemy is hammering at the gates of the capital--this is not the moment, I repeat, to scatter germs of indiscipline.” “But, sir, discipline----” Lines appeared on his brow and round his mouth. Then he muttered in a tone that was at once arrogant, sad and sententious: “Discipline!--why, you don’t know what it is! You can’t teach me anything about that. Do your four days.” I understood from the gesture accompanying these words that I must depart. An unexpected reply escaped me. “Sir,” I said, “I shall send in a complaint to the colonel.” The dwarf brought down his fists on a pile of documents. “Good! good! Another row! And we think we are going to win with such people! Get out of my sight, will you!” I thought he groaned, and I found myself in the passage. Midway between the floor and the ceiling ran a water-pipe, making a babbling noise. It seemed to have been installed there in the silence since the days of Adam. I went staggering back to my work. The doctor of the third division at that time was a man named Briavoine. What a delightful and sympathetic person he was! He had such a jolly way of feeling convinced about everything he said. And how I loved to see him smile, with the wrinkles on his wide bare forehead and round his eyes! M. Briavoine was in his office when I arrived; but on that day no smile lit up his face, which was frowning and majestic. “No, no!” he was saying to those around him. “Dufrêne is a general, but I--I am mere Briavoine.” A silence full of respect greeted this firm avowal. The reputation of M. Briavoine was more than European. He had distinguished himself in the delicate art of making childbirth a less difficult and painful process, and many princesses had benefited by his care.