On the great bare walls, with their colourless paper, all stained with varied filth, there were chalked up at intervals in great bold characters, the words: “Liberté—Egalité—Fraternité.”
The whole of this sordid abode was dimly lighted by an evil-smelling oil-lamp, which hung from the rickety rafters of the ceiling. It all looked so horribly squalid, so dirty and uninviting, that Marguerite hardly dared to cross the threshold.
Sir Andrew, however, had stepped unhesitatingly forward.
“English travellers, citoyen!” he said boldly, and speaking in French.
The individual who had come to the door in response to Sir Andrew’s knock, and who, presumably, was the owner of this squalid abode, was an elderly, heavily-built peasant, dressed in a dirty blue blouse, heavy sabots, from which wisps of straw protruded all round, shabby blue trousers, and the inevitable red cap with the tricolour cockade, that proclaimed his momentary political views. He carried a short wooden pipe, from which the odour of rank tobacco emanated. He looked with some suspicion and a great deal of contempt at the two travellers, muttered “Sacrrrés Anglais!” and spat upon the ground to further show his independence of spirit, but, nevertheless, he stood aside to let them enter, no doubt well aware that these same sacrrrés Anglais always had well-filled purses.
“Oh, lud!” said Marguerite, as she advanced into the room, holding her handkerchief to her dainty nose, “what a dreadful hole! Are you sure this is the place?”
“Aye! ’tis the place, sure enough,” replied the young man as, with his lace-edged, fashionable handkerchief, he dusted a chair for Marguerite to sit on; “but I vow I never saw a more villainous hole.”
“Faith!” she said, looking round with some curiosity and a great deal of horror at the dilapidated walls, the broken chairs, the rickety table, “it certainly does not look inviting.”
The landlord of the “Chat Gris”—by name, Brogard—had taken no further notice of his guests; he concluded that presently they would order supper, and in the meanwhile it was not for a free citizen to show deference, or even courtesy, to anyone, however smartly they might be dressed.
By the hearth sat a huddled-up figure clad, seemingly, mostly in rags: that figure was apparently a woman, although even that would have been hard to distinguish, except for the cap, which had once been white, and for what looked like the semblance of a petticoat. She was sitting mumbling to herself, and from time to time stirring the brew in her stock-pot.