“‘Never!  We won’t let you go—­it can’t be done.’

“‘But—­’

“‘But me no buts,’ I reply, while she locks the door.”

“Then what?” asked Lamuse.

“Then?  Nothing at all,” replied Eudore.  “We just stayed like that, very discreetly—­all the night—­sitting, propped up in the corners, yawning—­like the watchers over a dead man.  We made a bit of talk at first.  From time to time some one said, ‘Is it still raining?’ and went and had a look, and said, ’It’s still raining’—­we could hear it, by the way.  A big chap who had a mustache like a Bulgarian fought against sleeping like a wild man.  Sometimes one or two among the crowd slept, but there was always one to yawn and keep an eye open for politeness, who stretched himself or half got up so that he could settle more comfortably.

“Mariette and me, we never slept.  We looked at each other, but we looked at the others as well, and they looked at us, and there you are.

“Morning came and cleaned the window.  I got up to go and look outside.  The rain was hardly less.  In the room I could see dark forms that began to stir and breathe hard.  Mariette’s eyes were red with looking at me all night.  Between her and me a soldier was filling his pipe and shivering.

“Some one beats a tattoo on the window, and I half open it.  A silhouette with a streaming hat appears, as though carried and driven there by the terrible force of the blast that came with it, and asks—­

“‘Hey, in the cafe there!  Is there any coffee to be had?’

“‘Coming, sir, coming,’ cried Mariette.

“She gets up from her chair, a little benumbed.  Without a word she looks at her self in our bit of a mirror, touches her hair lightly, and says quite simply, the good lass—­

“‘I am going to make coffee for everybody.’

“When that was drunk off, we had all of us to go.  Besides, customers turned up every minute.

“‘Hey, la p’tite mere,’ they cried, shoving their noses in at the half-open window, ’let’s have a coffee—­or three—­or four’—­’and two more again,’ says another voice.

“We go up to Mariette to say good-by.  They knew they had played gooseberry that night most damnably, but I could see plainly that they didn’t know if it would be the thing to say something about it or just let it drop altogether.

“Then the Bulgarian made up his mind:  ’We’ve made a hell of a mess of it for you, eh, ma p’tite dame?’

“He said that to show he’d been well brought up, the old sport.

“Mariette thanks him and offers him her hand—­’That’s nothing at all, sir.  I hope you’ll enjoy your leave.’

“And me, I held her tight in my arms and kissed her as long as I could—­half a minute—­discontented—­my God, there was reason to be—­but glad that Mariette had not driven the boys out like dogs, and I felt sure she liked me too for not doing it.

“‘But that isn’t all,’ said one of the leave men, lifting the skirt of his cape and fumbling in his coat pocket; ’that’s not all.  What do we owe you for the coffees?’