But Mme Bron was unable to comply with her wishes all at once.

Under the stairs in a sort of deep cupboard she kept a little bar, whither the supers were wont to descend for drinks between the acts, and seeing that just at that moment there were five or six tall lubbers there who, still dressed as Boule Noire masqueraders, were dying of thirst and in a great hurry, she lost her head a bit.

A gas jet was flaring in the cupboard, within which it was possible to descry a tin-covered table and some shelves garnished with half-emptied bottles.

Whenever the door of this coalhole was opened a violent whiff of alcohol mingled with the scent of stale cooking in the lodge, as well as with the penetrating scent of the flowers upon the table.
"Well now," continued the portress when she had served the supers, "is it the little dark chap out there you want ?" "No, no; don't be silly!" said Simonne.

"It's the lanky one by the side of the stove.