"No beds," she said.
The pretty girl smiled in a troubled way and murmured something in a soft voice.
"She says they haven't got any beds in the rooms. Fritz took them all," interpreted George. "Écoutez, Mademoiselle. We have beds. Trois lits. Nous les avons. Tous les trois. Oui. À la gare. Absolument."
Mademoiselle looked at Madame with a kink of her pretty brows. Madame rose like a balloon to the need.
"No beds," she said very distinctly, with a rounding of eyes and mouth. "No beds, Messieurs. No-o-o—beds."
Before George could recover John interfered. He makes a hobby of cutting Gordian knots.
"Oh, what's the earthly use of telling 'em we have beds when they can see for themselves that we haven't? They just think we can't understand. Let's go up and take the rooms if they're decent. Then we'll get the stretchers and put 'em up. That's the only sort of argument we can handle."
Manfully George went to work again. And reluctant, and yet obviously fascinated by his French, like a bird by a snake, Mademoiselle led up the narrow stairs and into a sizeable room, clean as a pin and as naked. On the threshold Madame washed her hands of hope.
"Regardez! No beds. C'est affreux!"