"With open hands, yes--"

"I tell you," Marthereau says again, "it's a shame and it's
sickening."

"Shut it up--there's the she-beast coming back." We took a turn
round to quarters to announce our success, and then went shopping.
When we returned to our new dining-room, we were hustled by the
preparations for lunch. Barque had been to the rations distribution,
and had managed, thanks to personal relations with the cook (who was
a conscientious objector to fractional divisions), to secure the
potatoes and meat that formed the rations for all the fifteen men of
the squad. He had bought some lard--a little lump for fourteen
sous--and some one was frying. He had also acquired some green peas
in tins, four tins. Mesnil Andre's tin of veal in jelly would
be a hors-d'oeuvre.

"And not a dirty thing in all the lot!" said Lamuse, enchanted.

* * * * * *

We inspected the kitchen. Barque was moving cheerfully about the
iron Dutch oven whose hot and steaming bulk furnished all one side
of the room.

"I've added a stewpan on the quiet for the soup," he whispered to
me. Lifting the lid of the stove--"Fire isn't too hot. It's half an
hour since I chucked the meat in, and the water's clean yet."