You see, the snow does come in through all the loopholes and it heaps up, and sometimes we are snowbound with the wind blowing a gale." They had come to Carhaix's lodge.

His wife was waiting for them on the threshold.
"Come in, gentlemen," she said.

"You have certainly earned some refreshment," and she pointed to four glasses which she had set out on the table.
The bell-ringer lighted a little briar pipe, while Des Hermies and Durtal each rolled a cigarette.
"Pretty comfortable place," remarked Durtal, just to be saying something.

It was a vast room, vaulted, with walls of rough stone, and lighted by a semi-circular window just under the ceiling.

The tiled floor was badly covered by an infamous carpet, and the furniture, very simple, consisted of a round dining-room table, some old _bergere_ armchairs covered with slate-blue Utrecht velours, a little stained walnut sideboard on which were several plates and pitchers of Breton faience, and opposite the sideboard a little black bookcase, which might contain fifty books.
"Of course a literary man would be interested in the books," said Carhaix, who had been watching Durtal.