Hyde hitched up his pony at the door, and they entered the booth, seating themselves at one of the tables, if the two inverted wine-boxes used for the purpose deserved the name.  There were other soldiers about, mostly British:  a couple of sergeants of the Guards, an assistant of the provost-marshal, some of the new Land Transport Corps, and one or two Sardinians, in their picturesque green tunics and cocked hats with great plumes of black feathers.

The demand for drink was incessant and kept the attendants busy.  There were only two of them:  the proprietress, a dark-skinned lady, familiarly termed Mother Charcoal, and a mite of a boy whom the English customers called the “imp” and the French polisson (rogue).

Mother Charcoal was a stout but comely negress, hailing originally from Jamaica, who had come to Constantinople as stewardess in one of the transport-ships.  Being of an enterprising nature, she had hastened to the seat of war and sunk all her ready-money in opening a canteen.  She was soon very popular with the allied troops of every nationality and did a roaring trade.

“Some brandy—­your best, my black Venus!” shouted Hyde.

“Who you call names?  Me no Venus.”

“Well, Mrs. Charcoal, then; that name suits your colour.”

“What colour?  You call me coloured?  I no common nigger, let me tell you, sah; I a Georgetown lady.  Me wash for officers’ wives and give dignity-balls in my own home.  Black Venus!  Charcoal!  You call me my right name.  Sophimisby Cleopatra Plantagenet Sprotts:  that my right name.”

“Well, Mrs. S.C.P.S., I can’t get my tongue round them all; fetch the brandy or send it.  We will talk about your pedigree and Christian names some other time.”

This chaffing colloquy had raised a general laugh and put Hyde on good terms with the company.

“What news from the front, sergeant?” asked one of the Land Transport Corps, a new comer.

“Nothing much on our side, except that they say there will be a new bombardment in a few days.  But the French, were pretty busy last night, to judge from the firing.”

“What was it?”

“Perhaps our friend here can tell you” and he turned to Anatole, asking the question in French.

“A glorious affair, truly!” replied the Frenchman, delighted to have an opportunity of launching out.

“I was there—­I, who speak to you.”

“Tell us about it,” said Hyde; “I will interpret it to these gentlemen.”

“The Russians, you must understand, have been forming ambuscades in front of our bastion Du Mat, which have given us infinite trouble.  Last night we attacked them in three columns, 10,000 strong, and drove them out.”

“Well done!”

“It was splendidly done!” went on Anatole, bombastically.  “Three times the enemy tried to retake their ambuscades; three times we beat them back at the point of the bayonet, so!”