They sat together in the main room of the house where M.Roussillon kept his books, his curiosities of Indian manufacture collected here and there, and his surplus firearms, swords, pistols, and knives, ranged not unpleasingly around the walls.
Of course, along with the letter, Rene bore the news, so interesting to himself, of the boat's tempting cargo just discharged at the river house.

Alice understood her friend's danger--felt it in the intense enthusiasm of his voice and manner.

She had once seen the men carousing on a similar occasion when she was but a child, and the impression then made still remained in her memory.

Instinctively she resolved to hold Rene by one means or another away from the river house if possible.

So she managed to keep him occupied eating pie, sipping watered claret and chatting until night came on and Madame Roussillon brought in a lamp.
Then he hurriedly snatched his cap from the floor beside him and got up to go.
"Come and look at my handiwork," Alice quickly said; "my shelf of pies, I mean." She led him to the pantry, where a dozen or more of the cherry pates were ranged in order.