‘Place them in the passage,’ I replied.
‘Oh! in the passage?’ He paused, looking at them in doubt.
‘Yes, booby; in the passage.’
‘And the cloaks, Monsieur?’
‘There is a bush handy outside the window. Let them air.’
‘Ohe, the bush? Well, to be sure they are damp. But—yes, yes, Monsieur, it is done. And the bolsters?’
‘There also,’ I said harshly. ‘Throw them out. Faugh! The place reeks of leather. Now, a clean hearth. And set the table before the open door, so that we may see the garden—so. And tell the cook that we dine at eleven, and that Madame and Mademoiselle will descend.’
‘Ohe! But M. le Capitaine ordered the dinner for half-past eleven.’
‘It must be advanced, then; and, mark you, my friend, if it is not ready when Madame comes down, you will suffer, and the cook too.’
When he was gone on his errand, I looked round. What else was lacking? The sun shone cheerily on the polished floor; the air, freshened by the rain which had fallen in the night, entered freely through the open doorway. A few bees lingering with the summer hummed outside. The fire crackled bravely; an old hound, blind and past work, lay warming its hide on the hearth. I could think of nothing more, and I stood and stood and watched the man set out the table and spread the cloth.