"Where is the other man?" said he. "Go and fetch him."
I departed for the purpose, and, on my way, heard one of the carpenters in the neighbourhood of the barraque say in a thick, unctuous, sing-song voice.
"A great work is it indeed!"
Whereafter I heard the two women fall to drawling in low, hungry accents:
"With the flesh I'll conquer pain;
The spirit shall my lust restrain;
All-supreme the soul shall reign;
And carnal vices lure in vain."
True, the women pronounced their words distinctly enough; yet always they prolonged the final "u" sound of the stanza's first and third lines until, as the melody floated away into the darkness, and, as it were, sank to earth, it came to resemble the long-drawn howl of a wolf.
In answer to my invitation to come to supper, the newcomer sprang to his feet, folded up his manuscript, stuffed it into one of the pockets of his ragged coat, and said with a smile:
"I had just been going to resort to the carpenters, for they would have given us some bread, I suppose? Long is it since I tasted anything."
The same words he repeated on our approaching the ex-soldier; much as though he took a pleasure in their phraseology.
"You suppose that they would have given us bread?" echoed the ex-soldier as he unfastened his wallet. "Not they! No love is lost between them and ourselves."