“What am I going to do?  Nothing!” answered Christine.  “Let him sleep.”

Christine, too, was dismayed.  But Marthe’s weakness gave her strength, and she would not show her fright.  Moreover, Christine had some force of character, though it did not often show itself as sudden firmness.  She condescended to Marthe.  She also condescended to the officer, because he was unconscious, because he had put himself in a false position, because sooner or later he would look extremely silly.  She regarded the officer’s intrusion as tiresome, but she did not gravely resent it.  After all, he was drunk; and before the row in the Promenade he had asked her for her card, saying that he was engaged that night but would like to know where she lived.  Of course she had protested—­as what woman in her place would not?—­against the theory that he was engaged that night, and she had been in a fair way to convince him that he was not really engaged that night—­except morally to her, since he had accosted her—­when the quarrel had supervened and it had dawned on her that he had been in the taciturn and cautious stage of acute inebriety.

He had, it now seemed, probably been drinking through the night.  There were men, as she knew, who simply had to have bouts, whose only method to peace was to drown the demon within them.  She would never knowingly touch a drunken man, or even a partially intoxicated man, if she could help it.  She was not a bit like the polite young lady above, who seemed to specialise in noisy tipplers.  Her way with the top-heavy was to leave them to recover in tranquillity.  No other way was safe.  Nevertheless, in the present instance she did venture again into the bedroom.  The plight of the lace coverlet troubled her and practically drove her into the bedroom.  She got a little towel, gently lifted the sleeper’s left foot, and tied the towel round his boot; then she did the same to his other foot.  The man did not stir; but if, later, he should stir, neither his boots nor his spurs could do further harm to the lace coverlet.  His cane and gloves were on the floor; she picked them up.  His overcoat, apparently of excellent quality, was still on his back; and the cap had not quite departed from his head.  Christine had learned enough about English military signs and symbols to enable her to perceive that he belonged to the artillery.

“But how will madame change her dress?” Marthe demanded in the sitting-room.  Madame always changed her dress immediately on returning from church, for that which is suitable for mass may not be proper to other ends.

“I shall not change,” said Christine.

“It is well, madame.”

Christine was not deterred from changing by the fact that the bedroom was occupied.  She retained her church dress because she foresaw the great advantage she would derive from it in the encounter which must ultimately occur with the visitor.  She would not even take her hat off.