"Welcome to our humble quarters!" said Canning. "Don't be afraid! You'll soon get used to the smoke."
"What a reek!" said Audley. "Why the devil don't you open the window?"
"A careful reconnaissance," Gordon informed him, "has revealed the fact that the window is not made to open. What are you concealing under your cloak?"
The Colonel grinned, and produced his bottles of champagne, which he set down on the table.
"Canning, tell the orderly downstairs to get hold of some glasses!" said Gordon, sitting up. "Hi, Charles, don't put that wet cloak of yours anywhere near my coat!"
Canning hitched the coat off the chair back, and tossed it to its owner. "It's dry. We have a very nice billet here, Charles. Try this chair! I daren't sit in it any longer for fear of being too sore to sit in the saddle tomorrow."
Colonel Audley spread his cloak over the chair back, sat down on the edge of the truckle bed against the wall, and began to pull off his muddied boots. "I'm going to sleep," he replied. "In fact, I rather think that I'm asleep already. Where's Slender Billy?"
"At Abeiche. Horses at L'Espinettes."
The Colonel wiped his hands on a large handkerchief, took off his coat, and stretched himself full length on the patchwork quilt. "What do they stuff their mattresses with here?" he enquired. "Turnips?"
"We rather suspect mangel -worzels," replied Canning. "Did you hear the pickets enjoying themselves when you came in?"