“Look, a fish jumped,” cried Genevieve. “I wonder if we could hire a boat anywhere.... Don't you think it'd be fun to go out in a boat?” A voice broke in on Genevieve's answer: “Let's see your pass, will you?” Andrews turned round. A soldier with a round brown face and red cheeks stood beside him on the bridge. Andrews looked at him fixedly. A little zigzag scar above his left eye showed white on his heavily tanned skin. “Let's see your pass,” the man said again; he had a high pitched, squeaky voice. Andrews felt the blood thumping in his ears. “Are you an M. P.?” “Yes.” “Well I'm in the Sorbonne Detachment.” “What the hell's that?” said the M. P., laughing thinly. “What does he say?” asked Genevieve, smiling. “Nothing. I'll have to go see the officer and explain,” said Andrews in a breathless voice. “You go back to your Aunt's and I'll come as soon as I've arranged it.” “No, I'll come with you.” “Please go back. It may be serious. I'll come as soon as I can,” said Andrews harshly. She walked up the hill with swift decisive steps, without turning round. “Tough luck, buddy,” said the M. P. “She's a good-looker. I'd like to have a half-hour with her myself.” “Look here. I'm in the Sorbonne School Detachment in Paris, and I came down here without a pass. Is there anything I can do about it?” “They'll fix you up, don't worry,” cried the M. P. shrilly. “You ain't a member of the General Staff in disguise, are ye? School Detachment! Gee, won't Bill Huggis laugh when he hears that? You pulled the best one yet, buddy.... But come along,” he added in a confidential tone. “If you come quiet I won't put the handcuffs on ye.” “How do I know you're an M. P.?” “You'll know soon enough.” They turned down a narrow street between grey stucco walls leprous with moss and water stains. At a chair inside the window of a small wine shop a man with a red M. P. badge sat smoking. He got up when he saw them pass and opened the door with one hand on his pistol holster. “I got one bird, Bill,” said the man, shoving Andrews roughly in the door. “Good for you, Handsome; is he quiet?” “Um.” Handsome grunted. “Sit down there. If you move you'll git a bullet in your guts.” The M. P. stuck out a square jaw; he had a sallow skin, puffy under the eyes that were grey and lustreless. “He says he's in some goddam School Detachment. First time that's been pulled, ain't it?” “School Detachment. D'you mean an O. T. C?” Bill sank laughing into his chair by the window, spreading his legs out over the floor. “Ain't that rich?” said Handsome, laughing shrilly again. “Got any papers on ye? Ye must have some sort of papers.” Andrews searched his pockets. He flushed. “I ought to have a school pass.” “You sure ought. Gee, this guy's simple,” said Bill, leaning far back in the chair and blowing smoke through his nose. “Look at his dawg-tag, Handsome.” The man strode over to Andrews and jerked open the top of his tunic. Andrews pulled his body away.