It is Reymond's turn to drink, he smacks his lips and reflects. Finally he says—
"I believe it's arnica."
We do our best to keep awake. Belin counts: One! I answer: Two, and a snore escapes me. A dig in the ribs brings me back to the reality of things.
"Well! Didn't I say: 'Two'?"
"You did," whispers Belin ironically; "but you said it with a snore."
"Even if I snore, I don't fall asleep."
"That's news to me," affirms Belin with all the authority of his nine years' campaigns.
The better to keep awake, we begin to talk. Reymond asks a question.
"I say, Belin, this is a real outpost, is it not?"