Louis sighed. “Couldn’t we at least have supper here?” he asked pathetically. “It’s heart-rending to think how long it is since we had our last meal.”
The Marquis laughed. “Now that you remind me, I feel very hungry too,” he admitted. “Let us sup here, then, if we can; we might possibly get a bed as well.”
As it happened, the first house to which they came, a tiny low-browed inn, displayed a faded but recognisable wheatsheaf with the legend, “A la Gerbe d’Or.” A slatternly-looking woman with a dirty cloth in her hand appeared in response to their knock. In her wake the travellers exchanged the peculiar close smell of the passage for the hardly more agreeable though varied odours of the kitchen of the hostelry, which appeared to be its dining-room also. A couple of rough-looking men were playing cards at a table in the middle of the room. The woman ushered the cousins to a small oblong table nearer to the window, at the end of which sat an individual who was making great play with his soup. His liberal exhibition of the method of suction came, however, to an end about a moment after the two had sat down, when, leaning back in his chair, he pulled out a toothpick and used it vigorously. While engaged in the performance of this merely ceremonial act—for there was no meat in the soup—he subjected the newcomers to a steady scrutiny, not diverted until the advent of a plate of meat, to which he transferred his attention.
The thin soup was hot, at any rate, the stewed meat passable. The cousins were half-way through the latter before the man at the end of the table pushed away his empty plate.
“Pas mal, la mère,” he remarked. “A trifle overdone, perhaps. But it is something to get meat at all. Some never taste it from week’s end to week’s end. That’s true, isn’t it, citizen?” he added, leaning forward and pointedly addressing his query to the Marquis, who sat opposite at the other end of the little table.
“Perfectly,” responded Gilbert without enthusiasm.
“But you’ve never had to go without it, eh? You’ve never known a day when you haven’t eaten good, satisfying meat? Come now, confess it!” And he cackled with a rather unpleasant laughter.
The Marquis was taken aback, and he was also angry at the impertinence. He was about to reply in no very conciliatory spirit when Louis suddenly struck in.
“Do you think that we seem too fat and well-liking, citizen?” he asked gaily. “Our looks belie us if you do. For my part, it’s a long day since I have tasted meat like this.” Which was true.
“Come from far?” asked the other, producing the toothpick again.