“You can find room for us to-night, I suppose?” I answered.
“Well,” he replied slowly, “my rooms are small, but if a couple of lofts——”
“That will do for us,” the sergeant said gruffly. “Better a board than six feet of earth on such a night.”
“Aye, and good liquor in plenty to soften it,” cried a trooper, and the men laughed.
“You shall find no complaint with that, I promise you,” said the landlord. “There are wines to suit all tastes, and as for my cider, ’tis second to none in all Devonshire.”
“To the devil with your cider!” said a trooper roughly. “Give us brandy, hot, and of the best, if you would keep this hen coop from being burned round your ears!”
“And a pretty wench to serve it!” cried another.
“As you please, gentlemen! As you please!” the landlord hastened to say. “None should know better than I how to treat you. I have cognac here—the best out of France. But come inside, gentlemen, and my men shall look to your horses.” He turned and led the way indoors.
In a square, stone-paved room on the right of the passage we found De Brito’s troopers, a plentiful supply of ale upon the low tables before them, who greeted their comrades with boisterous shouts of welcome.
“Would it not be advisable, monsieur, to seek another apartment?” said M. de Launay. “Your men are gallant fellows, but save on the field of battle, I prefer them at a distance.”