That wonderful day drew to a close. Manon and Paul were tired, wholesomely and happily tired, and they ended the day by arguing about the blankets.
“One each,” said Manon.
“You can have both.”
“Then I will have neither.”
“My greatcoat is enough for me.”
“Mon ami,” she said, “if you think that I am going to let you sleep up there under a bit of tin with nothing but your coat, you are a little touched in the head. Take your blanket, at once, and do not argue.”
Brent surrendered. He bade her good-night and went upstairs, taking his bag for a pillow. He made a sack of his blanket, crept into it, and settled himself on the creaking wire bed under the four pieces of corrugated iron. Through the window he could see the stars shining over Beaucourt, clear, frosty stars.
Brent pulled his greatcoat over his head, and slept in spite of the cold.
XIII
Manon did not wake very early, and rays of sunlight were thrusting like sword blades through the iron grating when she opened her eyes.