Within was a gentle murmur of voices, a smell of soup and baking bread;
warm steam, the glow of oil lamps and reddened faces.

Sitting at a small table, with a white cloth, among the half-dozen
American soldiers who, having long finished their lunch, were playing
cards and dominoes, they ordered bread-soup, an omelette, white wine,
brille cheese and their own ration of bully beef which they had brought
in tins to be fried with onions.

A woman appeared from the door of the kitchen, carrying their bowl of
bread-soup. Across the plains of her great chest shone a white satin
waistcoat fastened with blue glass studs, and above her handsome face
rose a crown of well-brushed hair dyed in two shades of scarlet. A
little maid followed, and they covered the table with dishes, knives and
forks, bread and wine. The woman beamed upon Fanny and Julien, and
laying her hand upon Fanny's shoulder begged them not to eat till she
had fetched them a glass of her own wine.

"You bet it's good, ma'am," advised a big American sergeant at a table
near them. "You take it."

She brought them a wine which shone like dark amber in a couple of
glasses, and stood over them listening with pleasure to their
appreciation while each slight movement of her shoulders sent ripples
and rivers of heaving light over the waistcoat of satin.

The butter round the omelette was bubbling in the dish, the brille had
had its red rind removed and replaced by fried breadcrumbs, the white
wine was light and sweet, and with the coffee afterwards they were given
as much sugar as they wished.