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Updated: May 7, 2025
An animated discussion ensued between the members of the council. It resulted in the colonel's announcement: "We will hear this witness." He addressed Bobinette: "You are allowed to speak, mademoiselle. Swear then to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Raise your right hand and say: 'I swear it!" With a certain dignity Bobinette obeyed. "I swear it!"
The owner of The Crying Calf shouted in a stentorian voice: "Now, boys! It's only seven sous drinks now!" It was the accustomed warning, taken as a matter of course. Protesting in a squeaky voice that his constitution was weakly, that his doctor had ordered him not to sit up late, the Scrub, who feared a meeting with Bobinette, knowing she had little liking for him, now took himself off.
"You know, my little Bobinette, that I have made you my sole legatee," cried the captain, with an adoring look at the pretty girl who suddenly appeared in the doorway. He continued his search among his papers: they were in great disorder. "I wished to show you it's a question of spelling your name correctly. You are called Berthe, are you not?" The girl had come forward.
The distracted Bobinette, still swaying in the doorway, failed to grasp the full meaning of what these intruders were saying. Inspector Michel marched up to the trembling girl. "Mademoiselle! Are you alone in your room?" Bobinette nodded. She was incapable of speech. The inspector ignored the nod, brushed past her, stepped into the room and glanced rapidly round.
Sprung from the people, Bobinette had tried to remedy this by becoming a past mistress of postures, of attitudes. Like others of her kind, from her very childhood she had learned to adapt herself to whatever company she was in, picking up almost intuitively those shades of taste, of tact, which can transform the most unconsidered daughter of the people into the most fastidious of Parisiennes.
Bobinette replied, quite naturally: "To be sure I can, Monsieur. Baron de Naarboveck is giving an entertainment here shortly, and the captain was going to take part in it. As he was very much of an artist we counted on his doing some menus in colour for us: I simply went to see him with a message from Mademoiselle Wilhelmine."... The conversation stopped short. Fandor had turned around quickly.
Bobinette shook her head. "You know very well that to-morrow I shall be gone." "Where?" "Where?" The red-haired beauty cried impatiently: "It's you ask me that?... Why ... I go to the frontier." "Correct," said Juve. He would have welcomed further details. "Well, then, when can we meet?" pressed this determined accordion player. "How about next Wednesday?" suggested Bobinette. "That will do.
He would let her know that it would not do to play tricks with things of that sort. Nevertheless, his heart was wrung with anxiety. Supposing Bobinette had noticed nothing if the document had fallen in the street? Suddenly the poor fellow saw Bobinette's taxi cut across the line of carriages to the right and turn into the Avenue de la Grand-Armée.
To secure the puppets and leave the prime mover free is to obtain but a partial success: the victory is then more apparent than real.... I might have arrested Bobinette as we shall probably arrest Corporal Vinson before long; but would her arrest furnish us with the master key to this problem?
The young woman stared fixedly at the journalist, as if to read his thoughts, as if to divine whether or not he knew that not only had she met Captain Brocq, but had spent some time with him alone. Fandor did know it, but he remained impenetrable. Bobinette, very much mistress of herself, said quite simply: "It is a fact Monsieur, that I did see Captain Brocq yesterday.
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