'Threatened men live long, you rascal!' 'In Paris!' he answered significantly.

'Not here, Monsieur.' He straightened himself with that, nodded once, and went back to the fire; and I shrugged my shoulders and began to eat, affecting to forget his presence.

The logs on the hearth burned sullenly, and gave no light.
The poor oil-lamp, casting weird shadows from wall to wall, served only to discover the darkness.

The room, with its low roof and earthen floor, and foul clothes flung here and there, reeked of stale meals and garlic and vile cooking.

I thought of the parlour at Cocheforet, and the dainty table, and the stillness, and the scented pot-herbs; and though I was too old a soldier to eat the worse because my spoon lacked washing, I felt the change, and laid it savagely at Mademoiselle's door.
The landlord, watching me stealthily from his place by the hearth, read my thoughts and chuckled aloud.
'Palace fare, palace manners!' he muttered scornfully.