His last words had a good deal relieved me, but I was still far from comfortable. Major Chevenix smoked a while, looking now at his cigar ash, now at me. "I'm a soldier myself," he says presently, "and I've been out in my time and hit my man. I don't want to run any one into a corner for an affair that was at all necessary or correct. At the same time, I want to know that much, and I'll take your word of honour for it. Otherwise, I shall be very sorry, but the doctor must be called in." "I neither admit anything nor deny anything," I returned. "But if this form of words will suffice you, here is what I say: I give you my parole, as a gentleman and a soldier, there has nothing taken place amongst us prisoners that was not honourable as the day." "All right," says he. "That was all I wanted. You can go now, Champdivers." And as I was going out he added, with a laugh: "By the bye, I ought to apologise: I had no idea I was applying the torture!" The same afternoon the doctor came into the courtyard with a piece of paper in his hand. He seemed hot and angry, and had certainly no mind to be polite. "Here!" he cried. "Which of you fellows knows any English? O!"--spying me--"there you are, what's your name! _You_'ll do. Tell these fellows that the other fellow's dying. He's booked; no use talking; I expect he'll go by evening. And tell them I don't envy the feelings of the fellow who spiked him. Tell them that first." I did so. "Then you can tell 'em," he resumed, "that the fellow, Goggle--what's his name?--wants to see some of them before he gets his marching orders. If I got it right, he wants to kiss or embrace you, or some sickening stuff. Got that? Then here's a list he's had written, and you'd better read it out to them--I can't make head or tail of your beastly names--and they can answer _present_, and fall in against that wall." It was with a singular movement of incongruous feelings that I read the first name on the list. I had no wish to look again on my own handiwork; my flesh recoiled from the idea; and how could I be sure what reception he designed to give me? The cure was in my own hand; I could pass that first name over--the doctor would not know--and I might stay away. But to the subsequent great gladness of my heart, I did not dwell for an instant on the thought, walked over to the designated wall, faced about, read out the name "Champdivers," and answered myself with the word "Present."