When the host re-entered the supper-room he was astonished to see the table overturned, with its legs in the air, and Allegrignac and Mont-Rognon making a bed of it. They were sound asleep, far gone in that state of intoxication of which in after years the Templars afforded so many instances. Wrapt, up in the most brotherly way in the table-cloth, they reposed on a heap of odds and ends and broken crockery. The lamp had succumbed to the general disaster, and was sputtering and mouldering in the ruins of a venison pasty.
“Bravo!” said Ali, rubbing his hands. “These are the sort of customers I like. Furniture never gets faded with them, for one is always having new.” With that he set himself to break whatever had escaped the general smash; he even brought in a few damaged chairs, and distributed them artistically in fragments all over the room. Then, having picked up some gold pieces that had fallen on the floor, he went and lay down in the stable till morning.
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Mont-Rognon, whose normal state was semi-intoxication, was the first to wake next day. He gazed unmoved on the scene of destruction in the midst of which he had slept, and then went out into the yard to give himself a washing at the trough. Ali Pépé, hearing him on the move, immediately made his appearance.
“Listen, landlord,” said the Lord of Bourglastic, “I like your style of cookery, and your wine suits my palate. I should like to stop here a month; but, for reasons best known to myself, I wish my fellow-travellers not to know that I have put up here. When that drunken fellow who dined with me last night wakes up, you must tell him I started without waiting for him. You will do the same with that sluggard up-stairs, and when they are fairly off, come and let me know. I will take your dining-room for a month, and I intend never to quit the table. I shall not stir out, and nobody save you must come near me. I will defray the charges, including this last dinner, but I must insist on being well served. Recruit your forces, stock your larder and your cellar, for by Bacchus! you have got a tough job before you. Only I warn you, if you tell a single soul that I am here, you had better make your will, and order your coffin!”
“What an odd lot!” said Ali, as he went in-doors. “Must I send my stingy customer of last night packing? Or must I tell my drunken friend of this morning that he is here? Pshaw! They are both afraid of being seen, and won’t stir out an inch. One ought not to miss any profits, however small.” With this reflection he went into the dining-room.
“Is that you, landlord? asked Allegrignac, without opening his eyes. ‘Can you tell me what has become of my friend?’ It’s no use for me to kick about—he’s not in the bed.”