As she said the last word she saw one of the soldiers, a mere boy, lick his lips and give a sort of tragic wink at his companions. A sudden thought struck her.
“Don’t think me impertinent, Monsieur, but—what about provisions in your tower?”
“Oh, as to that, Madame, we shall do well enough. Here, open the door, Marelle!”
And he gave the key to a soldier, who wearily dismounted and thrust it into the door of the tower.
“But after three days in the dunes! Your provisions must be exhausted unless you’ve been able to replenish them.”
“You are too good, Madame. We shall manage a cous-cous.”
“And wine? Have you any wine?”
She glanced again at the exhausted soldiers covered with sand and saw that their eyes were fixed upon her and were shining eagerly. All the “good fellow” in her nature rose up.
“You must let me send you some,” she said. “We have plenty.”
She thought of some bottles of champagne they had brought with them and never opened.