fteen men of the squad.
He had bought some lard--a little lump for fourteen sous--and some one
was frying. He had also acquired some green peas in tins, four tins.
Mesnil Andre's tin of veal in jelly would be a hors-d'oeuvre.

"And not a dirty thing in all the lot!" said Lamuse, enchanted.

* * * * *

We inspected the kitchen. Barque was moving cheerfully about the iron
Dutch oven whose hot and steaming bulk furnished all one side of the
room.

"I've added a stewpan on the quiet for the soup," he whispered to me.
Lifting the lid of the stove--"Fire isn't too hot. It's half an hour
since I chucked the meat in, and the water's clean yet."

A minute later we heard some one arguing with the hostess. This extra
stove was the matter in dispute. There was no more room left for her on
her stove. They had told her they would only need a casserole, and she
had believed them. If she had known they were going to make trouble she
would not have let the room to them. Barque, the good fellow, replied
jokingly, and succeeded in soothing the monster.

One by one the others arrived. They winked and rubbed their hands
together, full of toothsome anticipation, like the guests at a
wedding-breakfast. As they break away from the dazzling light outside
and penetrate this cube of darkness, they are blinded, and stand like
bewildered owls for several minutes.

"It's not too brilliant in here," says Mesnil Joseph. "Come, old chap,
what do you want?" The others exclaim in chorus, "We're damned well off
here." And I can see heads nodding assent in the cavern's twilight.

An incident: Farfadet having by accident rubbed against the damp and
dirty wall, his shoulder has brought away from it a smudge so big and
black that it can be seen even here. Farfadet, so careful of his
appearance, growls, and in avoiding a second contact with the wall,
knocks the table so that his spoon drops to the ground. Stooping, he
fumbles among the loose earth, where dust and spiders' webs for years
have silently fallen. When he recovers his spoon it is almost black,
and webby threads hang from it. Evidently it is disastrous to let
anything fall on the ground. One must live here with great care.

Lamuse brings down his fat hand, like a pork-pie, between two of the
places at table. "Allons, a table!" We fall to. The meal is abundant
and of excellent quality. The sound of conversation mingles with those
of emptying bottles and filling jaws