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THE COMMISSARY (AFTER SEVERAL CONFLICTS WITH HIS PEN). EH BIEN, IL FAUT SE
PASSER DU NOM. CA NE S'ECRIT PAS. (Well, we must do without the name: it is
unspellable.)  

The above is a rough summary of this momentous conversation, in which I
have been chiefly careful to preserve the plums of the Commissary; but the
remainder of the scene, perhaps because of his rising anger, has left but
little definite in the memory of the Arethusa. The Commissary was not, I
think, a practised literary man; no sooner, at least, had he taken pen in
hand and embarked on the composition of the PROCES-VERBAL, than he became
distinctly more uncivil and began to show a predilection for that simplest
of all forms of repartee: "You lie!" Several times the Arethusa let it pass,
and then suddenly flared up, refused to accept more insults or to answer
further questions, defied the Commissary to do his worst, and promised him,
if he did, that he should bitterly repent it. Perhaps if he had worn this
proud front from the first, instead of beginning with a sense of
entertainment and then going on to argue, the thing might have turned
otherwise; for even at this eleventh hour the Commissary was visibly
staggered. But it was too late; he had been challenged the PROCES-VERBAL was
begun; and he again squared his elbows over his writing, and the Arethusa
was led forth a prisoner.  

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