'Till one o'clock,' was the reply.
'Two hours!' said Emil, strangely elated. 'We should have had to wait two hours before we could come on. He was riled that we didn't run,' and he laughed with glee.
So we marched over the level to the hotel. We called in for a glass of hot milk. I asked in German. But the maid, a pert hussy, elegant and superior, was French. She served us with great contempt, as two worthless creatures, poverty-stricken. It abashed poor Emil, but we managed to laugh at her. This made her very angry. In the smoking-room she raised up her voice in French:
'Du lait chaud pour les chameaux.'
'Some hot milk for the camels, she says,' I translated for Emil. He was covered with confusion and youthful anger.
But I called to her, tapped the table and called:
'Mademoiselle!'
She appeared flouncingly in the doorway.
'Encore du lait pour les chameaux,' I said.
And she whisked our glasses off the table, and flounced out without a word.