Rabecque busied himself at once, and his hungry master disposed himself to satisfy the healthiest appetite in France, when suddenly a shadow fell across the table.

A man had come to stand beside it, his body screening the light of one of the lamps that hung from a rafter of the ceiling.
"At last!" he exclaimed, and his voice was harsh with ill-humour.
Garnache looked up, pausing in the very act of helping himself to that ragout.

Rabecque looked up from behind his master, and his lips tightened.

The host looked up from the act of drawing the cork of the flagon he had taken from his wife, and his eyes grew big as in his mind he prepared a judicious blend of apology and remonstrance wherewith to soothe this very impatient gentleman.

But before he could speak, Garnache's voice cut sharply into the silence.