I was so obsessed with my little affair that I began to wander over the room without any real or apparent aim; and, in doing so, I very clumsily knocked up against M. Briavoine. “Be careful, my friend,” said this kind and courteous man. The urbanity of M. Briavoine, the gentleness of his voice, his correct and exquisite gesture, soothed my violated self-respect. I retired gratefully and with modesty to a corner where papers were being classified. And I thought: “How very polite he is, from every point of view!...” Gradually I regained my equanimity and took an interest in the conversation of the officers--an interest which soon became very keen. They were expecting, that very day, a visit from the Chief of the Medical Staff of the Forces--General Dufrêne. The imperious and diligent visits which this weighty person paid to the armies were worthy of the highest praise, and were, too, occasions for keen criticism. M. Briavoine took off his braided tunic: gold and silver stripes adorned the sleeves. “Give me my overalls,” he said. “Monsieur Dufrêne wishes to be received by his subordinates in full-dress uniform; but the needs of our profession require a coat like this.” A breath of rebellion disturbed the atmosphere. Those standing round M. Briavoine were understood to murmur their assent, in which there was at once something of bitterness, irony and defiance. Dressed in white, the great doctor looked at himself contentedly. “I am going to receive Dufrêne,” he said, “as I am now, in overalls, without my _képi_; if he takes it into his head to object, he may find that though I may be a subordinate, I am a man who has a right to some independence. That I serve my country disinterestedly no one can dispute, and I am not going to be lorded over. What have I to gain? My work in civil life is worth all the honours that I could ever get here.” These sensible views were hardly uttered before Professor Proby came in. He was a very tall man, with straw-coloured hair, and a look that expressed a seriousness bordering on stupidity. He used to bawl in talking, cutting up his sentences with all kinds of interjections and expletives which completely altered the sense of what he wanted to say. He plunged into a conversation with as much good manners as a buffalo. “What! What are you telling me? But I don’t care a hang.... Him! Why he knows quite well that--what! I am Paul Proby! And I am a member of the Academy; and I....” It was true: Professor Proby honoured the Academy with his contributions. He beat his foot on the ground, jingling his glittering spurs, and the rather showy parts of an accoutrement that had remained unused in a cupboard until the outbreak of war. “Dufrêne! that man!” he said again. “I’ve always been on good terms with him. But one mustn’t ... how annoying it is ... that man!” M. Briavoine, who had tact, thought the conversation was getting incoherent. With one turn of the rudder, he brought the ship back to its course.