Then he got out a serviette, also old and ragged, but
possessing some measure of cleanliness, and with this he carefully
wiped the glasses, spoons and plates, which he put on the table.
Marguerite could not help smiling to herself as she watched
all these preparations, which Brogard accomplished to an accompaniment
of muttered oaths. Clearly the great height and bulk of the
Englishman, or perhaps the weight of his fist, had overawed this
free-born citizen of France, or he would never have been at such
trouble for any SACRRE ARISTO.
When the table was set--such as it was--Brogard surveyed it
with evident satisfaction. He then dusted one of the chairs with the
corner of his blouse, gave a stir to the stock-pot, threw a fresh
bundle of faggots on to the fire, and slouched out of the room.
Marguerite was left alone with her reflections. She had
spread her travelling cloak over the straw, and was sitting fairly
comfortably, as the straw was fresh, and the evil odours from below
came up to her only in a modified form.
But, momentarily, she was almost happy; happy because, when
she peeped through the tattered curtains, she could see a rickety
chair, a torn table-cloth, a glass, a plate and a spoon; that was all.
Pages:
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306