,” cries a man in velveteen, adding in a tone of apologetic afterthought, “ un double, s’il vous plaît .” “Where are you working?” asks one in pure white linen from top to toe. “At the Carrefour de l’Épine,” returns the other in corduroy (they are all gaitered, by the way). “I couldn’t do a thing to it. I ran out of white. Where were you?” “I wasn’t working. I was looking for motives.” Here is an outbreak of jubilation, and a lot of men clustering together about some newcomer with outstretched hands; perhaps the “correspondence” has come in and brought So-and-so from Paris, or perhaps it is only So-and-so who has walked over from Chailly to dinner.

“ À table, Messieurs! ” cries M.