"What the deuce," cried Reggy, as he sat up quickly in bed. "She’ll _bring in_ the bath! Does she take me for a canary?" "A canary doesn’t make such a dickens of a row as you do," growled the quartermaster, "looking for a bath at six a.m." I tried to console him by reminding him that it was much better to have Reggy sweet and clean than in his present state, but he said it made small difference to him as he had a cold in his head anyway. Reggy, as an interested third party, began to look upon our controversy as somewhat personal, and was about to interfere when a rap at the door cut short further argument. Two chambermaids entered the room, carrying between them a tin pan about two feet in diameter and six inches in depth. It contained about a gallon of hot water. They placed it beside his bed. "_Voici, monsieur!_" cried she of the golden locks. Reggy leaned over the side of the bed and looked down at it. "_Sacré sabre de bois;_" he exclaimed. "It isn’t a drink I want—it’s a bath—’bain’—to wash—’laver’ ye know!" He made motions with his hands in excellent imitation of a gentleman performing his morning ablutions. They nodded approvingly, and laughed: "_Oui, monsieur_—it _is_ the bath." "Well, I’ll be d——" But before Reggy could conclude the two maids had smilingly withdrawn. Reggy explored the room in his pyjamas and emptied our three water pitchers into the pan. "Now I’ll at least be able to get my feet wet," he grumbled. "Where’s the soap?" he exclaimed a moment later. "There isn’t a bally cake of soap in the room." It was true. This is one of the petty annoyances of French hotels. Soap is never in the room and must be purchased as an extra, always at the most inopportune moment. After half an hour’s delay Reggy succeeded in buying a cake from the porter, and his bath proceeded without further mishap. He then tumbled into bed again and fell asleep. The maids shortly returned to carry out the bath, but when they saw how Reggy had exhausted all the water in the room they held up their hands in undisguised astonishment. "Monsieur is extravagant," they exclaimed, "to waste so much water!" Fortunately "Monsieur" was fast asleep, so the remark passed unnoticed. Later we approached the _concierge_, and asked here if there were not a proper bath-tub in the place. She laughed. _Les Anglais_ were so much like ducks—they wanted to be _always_ in the water. "But I will soon have it well for you," she declaimed with pride. "I am having two bath tubs placed in the cellar, and then you may play in the water all the day." At the time we looked upon this as her little joke, but when, weeks later, one early morning we noticed a tall _Anglais_ walking through the hotel "lounge" in his pyjamas, with bath towel thrown across his arm, we realised that she had spoken truth. The bath tubs were really and truly in the cellar.