None the less his jealousy got the upper hand.
"Woman," he cries out, "to thy bed!" "I was waiting," said she, "to say the Cap'n's bed--" "Sergeant's," says the dragoon, correcting her.
"-- Was laid i' the spare room." "Madam," replies Sergeant Basket, looking into her eyes and bowing, "a soldier with my responsibility sleeps but little.

In the first place, I must see that my men sup." "The maids be now cuttin' the bread an' cheese and drawin' the cider." "Then, Madam, leave me but possession of the parlour, and let me have a chair to sleep in." By this they were in the passage together, and her gaze devouring his regimentals.

The old man stood a pace off, looking sourly.
The sergeant fed his eyes upon her, and Satan got hold of him.
"Now if only," said he, "one of you could play cards!" "But I must go to bed," she answered; "though I can play cribbage, if only you stay another night." For she saw the glint in the farmer's eye; and so Sergeant Basket slept bolt upright that night in an arm-chair by the parlour fender.

Next day the dragooners searched the town again, and were billeted all about among the cottages.

But the sergeant returned to Constantine, and before going to bed--this time in the spare room--played a game of cribbage with Madam Noy, the farmer smoking sulkily in his arm-chair.
"Two for his heels!" said the rosy woman suddenly, halfway through the game.