fore George could recover John interfered. He makes a hobby of
cutting Gordian knots.

"Oh, what's the earthly use of telling 'em we have beds when they
can see for themselves that we haven't? They just think we can't
understand. Let's go up and take the rooms if they're decent. Then
we'll get the stretchers and put 'em up. That's the only sort of
argument we can handle."

Manfully George went to work again. And reluctant, and yet obviously
fascinated by his French, like a bird by a snake, Mademoiselle led
up the narrow stairs and into a sizeable room, clean as a pin and as
naked. On the threshold Madame washed her hands of hope.

"_Regardez!_ No beds. _C'est affreux!_"

George began again. He had courage. Whatever else Nature and luck
denied him there was no question of that. For a little it looked as
though he were in sight of the goal. Then Mademoiselle explained. They
were _desolees_, but the _sales Boches_ had stolen all the beds, and
Madame would not let the bare rooms to _Messieurs les Anglais_. It
would not be _convenable_ when they had no beds.

"No beds!" Madame appealed to the skylight as witness, and we looked
at each other. It was getting late and the others would have rustled
all the best bivvies by now. John had another brain-wave.

"Let's pantomime it. They always understand pantomime. There's no use
_saying_ we've got beds--not when George has to say it. We'll show
them."

Earnestly we pantomimed stretcher beds--our own stretcher beds--and
reposeful slumber thereon. "_Mon Dieu!_" cried Mademoiselle,
retreating in haste. "No beds," repeated Madame, unconvinced and
unafraid.

"She means that she doesn't want to have us," said John in cold
despair.

"She'd be a fool if she did now," answered Colin grimly. "Let's get
out of this."

And then John had a third brain-wave. He ordered George on guard, and
descended with Colin in search of the concrete proof of our sanity.
And Madame's voice, faint yet pursuing, followed us down.

"No beds," it said.

In ten minutes we were back triumphant with the three stretchers. It
was a full six months since we had written to England for them, and
they had come at last. Visions of rest went upstairs with us, and
under the big eyes of Madame and Mademoiselle and several more Madames
who had collected as unobtrusively as a silk hat collects dust
we slashed at the coverings, ripped them off and disclosed--three
deck-chairs.

We did not attempt to meet the sit