"Too bad it isn't!" sighed Chase. "I'm just in the mood for a jolly big meal."
"Oh, garçon, a bifteck aux pommes! Des haricots blancs! Une tasse de café noir!" sang out Don.
"If you order any more beefsteak and potatoes, beans and coffee there's going to be a right lively disturbance in the Cheval Noir," chuckled the art student. "I didn't realize before how hungry I was. Be seated, Messieurs. The treat is on me."
Thereupon the ambulanciers dropped into chairs which were ranged alongside a marble-topped table.
The interior of the Cheval Noir was decidedly typical of French inns. Facing the door stood a long counter, and its metal portions gleamed, sparkled and shone as Don's light played across their surfaces. Even the big clock which had once solemnly ticked off the passage of time hung in its place on the wall behind the counter.
"Another unusual experience!" drawled Dunstan. "How odd it is to be sitting here, monarchs of all we survey, and yet with nothing but a cozy inviting appearance to give us cheer. Say what you will, fellows, an air of comfort pervades these places that our up-to-date establishments in the new world sometimes seem to lack."
"And by way of compensation they also lack the cobwebs and the dirt," said Chase, dryly. "I can just imagine this inn in the heyday of its existence. Around these tables were probably seated a noisy, gesticulating lot of peasants, and chickens, enjoying the rights of democracy, wandered in and out. Oh, yes—'twas the simple life, all right, with the emphasis on the simple."
"Ecoutez—ecoutez!" broke in Don suddenly.
"But why should we listen, mon ami?" demanded Dunstan.
"Another sensation, I suppose!" cried Chase.