His jaw fell. He stopped on the word, stricken silent by the new aspect of the room, by the sight of the little party at the table, by all the changes I had worked.
‘SAINT SIEGE!’ he muttered. ‘What is this?’ The Lieutenant’s grizzled face peering over his shoulder completed the picture.
‘You are rather late, M. le Capitaine,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Madame’s hour is eleven. But, come here are your seats waiting for you.’
‘MILLE TONNERRES!’ he muttered, advancing into the room, and glaring at us.
‘I am afraid that the ragout 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 that you do not see Madame.’
He opened his mouth to swear, but for the moment he 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—’