Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XII. The Giant
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no doubt being mistaken for Germans. As the
interrogation went on his voice became less stern
and he glanced now and then with something like
admiration at the Giant with the half-unconscious
little Skornberg like a child in his lap. At last
he said with true French gallantry that it would
indeed be a pity to keep a bride waiting the whole
night for such a magnificent specimen of a
bridegroom, and that he would let us off for the present
pending the inquiry. We thanked him profusely
and stood up to go. To my horror he said to me:
“Please remain, I have to talk to you.” He
looked again at his papers, consulted a register
on the table and said sternly:
“You have given a false name, I warn you it is
a very serious offence. To show you my good will
I give you another chance to retract your
statement to the police. Who are you?”
I said I was Doctor Munthe.
“I can prove you are not,” he answered
severely. “Look at this,” he said pointing to
the register. “Doctor Munthe of Avenue de
Villiers is Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur, I
can see plenty of red spots on your coat but I can
see no red ribbon.”
I said I did not often wear it. Looking at his
empty buttonhole he said with a hearty laugh
that he had yet to live to learn that there existed
a man in France who had the red ribbon and did
not wear it. I suggested sending for my concierge
to identify me, he answered me it was
unnecessary, it was a case to be dealt with by the
Commissaire de Police himself in the morning. He
rang the bell.
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