your house?" I
asked.

"Supper, most certainly, and with pleasure," came the courteous
answer, "though we have only plain fare to offer. But the one spare
room we have for our occasional guests, has just been taken by a young
English or American gentleman. The woman who drives the two donkeys
with which they travel, will have a bed in the room of my sister, and
we could find sleeping place of a sort for your muleteer; but I fear
we have no way of making Monsieur comfortable."

I was filled with rage against the wretch who had robbed me of a
decent meal, and would now filch from me a night's rest.

"We have walked a long way," I said, "and are tired. We might have
stopped at St. Pierre, but preferred to come on to you. It is now too
dark to go back, or go on. Surely there are two beds in your spare
room, and as you keep an inn, and pretend to give bed and board to
travellers, you are bound to arrange for my accommodation."

"The young monsieur pays for the two beds in the spare room, in order
to secure the whole for himself alone," replied the landlord. "Not
expecting any other guests, we agreed to this; but the youth is
perhaps a countryman of yours, and rather than you should go further,
or spend a night of discomfort, he will probably consent to let you
share the room."

"He shall consent, or I will know the reason why," I said to myself
fiercely; but aloud I merely answered that I would be glad of a few
minutes' conversation with the young gentleman.

My host led me to the house door, introduced me to a handsome sister,
who was my hostess, explained to her the situation, with the view of
it we had arrived at, and descended to show Joseph where to shelter
Finois.

My landlady said that she would put the case to the occupant of the
spare room, who was already in his new quarters, preparing for supper,
but I persuaded her that it would be well for me to be on the spot,
and add my arguments to hers. We went upstairs, and in a dark passage
plunged suddenly into a pool of yellow light, gushing from a half-open
door. I hurried forward, step for step with my guide, lest the door
should be shut in my face before I could reach it. Over my hostess'
shoulder, I saw a bare but neat interior; a "coffin" bed, a
white-washed wall, and an uncarpeted floor, Mademoiselle Innocentina
Palumbo sitting upon it, tailor-fashion, engaged in excavating a
large, dark object from a _ruecksack_. In front of her stood the Brat,
deeply in