"With some ham?"
He would see.
We sat down at the table. The man went to call at an inside door.
"Louise!"
A young country girl appeared, with a hypo-critical expression and heavy features. She lacked real grace, but was built on a generous scale, her waist well-marked, and her bosom firm beneath the dress which she had popped on hurriedly.
"My eye!" murmured Bouillon.
The old man said a few words in patois and the girl knelt down in front of the grate and began to work a bellows. It was not long before some flames sprang from the dying embers. In a hand's turn she had laid the table for us. Five minutes later a frothy golden omelette was dished up for us.
We had never been so ravenous. We simply guzzled. We had taken off our great coats, which were stiff with rain. When his first pangs were assuaged, Guillaumin began to cheer up.
"A pretty good idea of mine, what?"
With a glance at the girl I made some joke under my breath, about the servant girl being, perhaps, the old man's mistress.