There was a white cloth on the table and a big loaf of bread at the end. The plates, with borders of little roses on them, seemed, after the army mess, the most beautiful things Fuselli had ever seen. The wine bottle was black beside the soup tureen and the wine in the glasses cast a dark purple stain on the cloth. Fuselli ate his soup silently understanding very little of the French that the two girls rattled at each other. The old woman rarely spoke and when she did one of the girls would throw her a hasty remark that hardly interrupted their chatter. Fuselli was thinking of the other men lining up outside the dark mess shack and the sound the food made when it flopped into the mess kits. An idea came to him. He'd have to bring Sarge to see Yvonne. They could set him up to a feed. “It would help me to stay in good with him,” He had a minute's worry about his corporalship. He was acting corporal right enough, but he wanted them to send in his appointment. The omelette melted in his mouth. “Damn bon,” he said to Yvonne with his mouth full. She looked at him fixedly. “Bon, bon,” he said again. “You.... Dan, bon,” she said and laughed. The cousin was looking from one to the other enviously, her upper lip lifted away from her teeth in a smile. The old woman munched her bread in a silent preoccupied fashion. “There's somebody in the store,” said Fuselli after a long pause. “Je irey.” He put his napkin down and went out wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Eisenstein and a chalky-faced boy were in the shop. “Hullo! are you keepin' house here?” asked Eisenstein. “Sure,” said Fuselli conceitedly. “Have you got any chawclit?” asked the chalky-faced boy in a thin bloodless voice. Fuselli looked round the shelves and threw a cake of chocolate down on the counter. “Anything else?” “Nothing, thank you, corporal. How much is it?” Whistling “There's a long, long trail a-winding,” Fuselli strode back into the inner room. “Combien chocolate?” he asked. When he had received the money, he sat down at his place at table again, smiling importantly. He must write Al about all this, he was thinking, and he was wondering vaguely whether Al had been drafted yet.