“Exactly, Sir Percy. A night’s rest would do you a world of good.”
“A night, sir?” exclaimed Blakeney with what seemed like an echo of his former inimitable laugh. “La! I should want a week.”
“I am afraid we could not arrange for that, but one night would greatly refresh you.”
“You are right, sir, you are right; but those d—d fellows in the next room make so much noise.”
“I would give strict orders that perfect quietude reigned in the guard-room this night,” said Chauvelin, murmuring softly, and there was a gentle purr in his voice, “and that you were left undisturbed for several hours. I would give orders that a comforting supper be served to you at once, and that everything be done to minister to your wants.”
“That sounds d—d alluring, sir. Why did you not suggest this before?”
“You were so—what shall I say—so obstinate, Sir Percy?”
“Call it pig-headed, my dear Monsieur Chambertin,” retorted Blakeney gaily, “truly you would oblige me.”
“In any case you, sir, were acting in direct opposition to your own interests.”
“Therefore you came,” concluded Blakeney airily, “like the good Samaritan to take compassion on me and my troubles, and to lead me straight away to comfort, a good supper and a downy bed.”