"Mille tonnerres!" he muttered, advancing into the room, and glaring at us.
"I am afraid the ragoût is cold," I continued, peering into the dish and affecting to see nothing. "The soup, however, has been kept hot by the fire. But I think you do not see Madame."
He opened his mouth to swear, but for the moment thought better of it. "Who--who put my boots in the passage?" he asked, his voice thick with rage. He did not bow to the ladies, or take any notice of their presence.
"One of the men, I suppose," I said indifferently. "Is anything missing?"
He glared at me. Then his cloak, spread outside, caught his eye. He strode through the door, saw his holsters lying on the grass, and other things strewn about. He came back. "Whose monkey game is this?" he snarled, and his face was very ugly. "Who is at the bottom of this? Speak, Sir, or I--"
"Tut-tut! the ladies!" I said. "You forget yourself, Monsieur."
"Forget myself?" he hissed, and this time he did not check his oath. "Don't talk to me of the ladies! Madame? Bah! Do you think, fool, that we are put into rebels' houses to bow and smile and take dancing lessons?"
"In this case a lesson in politeness were more to the point, Monsieur," I said sternly. And I rose.
"Was it by your orders that this was done?" he retorted, his brow black with passion. "Answer, will you?"
"It was!" I replied outright.