"But, Monsieur l'Abbé, I do not want to keep you waiting.... Do get up first!"
"Certainly not! No, no! Do not let us stand on ceremony."
Fandor did not insist. He was too pleased with his room-mate's request.
In next to no time—with a kind of barrack-room lick and polish—Fandor-Vinson had washed his face, had dressed, was ready.
"My dear Abbé," said he, "if you would like me to, I will ascertain whether your chauffeur is up, and will tell him to get ready to start."
"I was going to ask you to do that very thing, Corporal."
As the door closed on him, Fandor turned with an ironic salute towards the little priest.
"Much pleased!" said he to himself. "And with the hope of never meeting you on my road without Juve on my heels to offer you a pair of handcuffs—the right bracelets for you, and richly deserved."
Fandor did not awaken the chauffeur. He went into the yard: there he encountered the hotel-keeper. A brazen lie was the safe way, he decided.
"We have passed a very good night," declared he. "My companions are getting ready.... I am going to see if the car is in order for our start."