"My soup! my half-pint!" cried the man, entering the public room without removing his bonnet, but merely saluting the mistress of the house by a slight inclination of his head. With a sigh of fatigue, he seated himself at a table adjoining that where our patriot was discussing his black bread and chocolate.
The mistress of the tavern, in consequence of the deference she entertained for the new-comer, rose herself to order the requisite viands.
The two men turned their backs to each other,—one to look into the street, the other toward the end of the room,—not a word was exchanged between them till the mistress of the tavern had disappeared.
When the door had closed behind her, by the light from a single candle, suspended from the end of an iron wire so as to divide the light equally between the two guests, the man in the bear-skin bonnet—thanks to the glass placed before him—at length saw that the room was deserted.
"Good-evening," said he to his companion, without turning round.
"Good-evening, sir!" said the new-comer.
"Well," asked the patriot, with the same affected indifference, "where are we now?"
"Well! it is done!"
"What is done?"