Reggy leaned over the side of the bed and looked down at it.
"Sacré sabre de bois;" he exclaimed. "It isn't a drink I want—it's a bath—'bain'—to wash—'laver' ye know!"
He made motions with his hands in excellent imitation of a gentleman performing his morning ablutions. They nodded approvingly, and laughed:
"Oui, monsieur—it is the bath."
"Well, I'll be d——" But before Reggy could conclude the two maids had smilingly withdrawn.
Reggy explored the room in his pyjamas and emptied our three water pitchers into the pan.
"Now I'll at least be able to get my feet wet," he grumbled. "Where's the soap?" he exclaimed a moment later. "There isn't a bally cake of soap in the room."
It was true. This is one of the petty annoyances of French hotels. Soap is never in the room and must be purchased as an extra, always at the most inopportune moment. After half an hour's delay Reggy succeeded in buying a cake from the porter, and his bath proceeded without further mishap. He then tumbled into bed again and fell asleep.
The maids shortly returned to carry out the bath, but when they saw how Reggy had exhausted all the water in the room they held up their hands in undisguised astonishment.
"Monsieur is extravagant," they exclaimed, "to waste so much water!" Fortunately "Monsieur" was fast asleep, so the remark passed unnoticed.