"But not to be feared."
"Feared? No, but to be guarded against."
"Even so, the further from the door, the less the surprise. And what, in all the world, have we to guard? Lay there, landlord."
Midway through our meal of one dish came the first incursion on our solitude. Two men, one slouched and cloaked like a brigand, entered, and at sight of us, would have withdrawn again. But the landlord intervened.
"In ten minutes they are done, Monsieur," said he, a new servility struggling with his old surliness. "We have no other room except sleeping rooms."
"Which would not do. Bring wine and take away that candle," he went on, seating himself at the further end of the room in such a position that he faced the door. His companion, obedient to a gesture, also seated himself, but with a yard or two of space between. "Give it to these—ah—gentlemen yonder; they are almost in darkness."
"They've light enough to see to their mouths," he answered insolently, "and so I'll leave it."
"And I too much to see your face in," was the pat and no less insolent reply, "therefore you'll take it away."
It was the right method to deal with the fellow, for he at once bowed with a cringe.
"I'll fetch the wine, Monsieur; good, I suppose?"