They had stood all the morning looking out of the window disconsolately, had smoked pipes and cigarettes innumerable, and had yawned a good deal, and sworn a little.
"What the deuce are we to do to prevent ourselves from dying of ennui, Philip?" the one asked the other.
"Jerry," the other answered solemnly, "I know no more than you do. There is nothing left to read, and soon--very soon, alas!--there will be nothing left to smoke but the caporal obtainable in the village. That, however, might poison us and end our miseries."
Then the one called Philip began looking about the salon that was at their disposal, and whistling plaintively, and peering into the cupboards, of which there were two:
"Hullo!" he suddenly exclaimed, "here is another great mental treat for us--a lot of old books; and precious big ones, too! I wonder what they are?"
"Pull them out and let us see. Probably only Le Monde Illustré, or Le Journal Amusant, bound up for the landlord's winter nights' delectation, after they have been thumbed by every sailor in the village."
"Oh, confound the books!" Philip exclaimed when he had looked into them, "they are only the old registers, the Livres des Étrangers of bygone years."
"Nevertheless, let us see them," the other answered; "at any rate we shall learn what kind of company the house has kept."
So, obeying his behest, Philip brought them out, and they sat down "to begin at the beginning," as they said laughingly; and each took a volume and commenced to peruse it.
Every now and then they told one another of some name they had come across, the owner of which was known to them by hearsay, and they agreed that the "Hôtel Bellevue" had, in its day, had some very good people for its guests. They had found several titles--English--inscribed in the pages of the register, and also many prominent names belonging to the same nationality.