the most perfectly imbecile donkey ever devised by nature. I want
breakfast."

Velvet lids were upraised from Le Mire's eyes. "Here?" she
queried.

I pointed to the place--extreme charity might give it the title
of inn--where smoke was rising from a tin chimney.

Soon we were seated inside with a pot of steaming black coffee
before us. Harry was bubbling over with gaiety and good will,
evidently occasioned by my unexpected friendliness, while Le Mire
sat for the most part silent. It was easy to see that she was
more than a little disturbed by my arrival, which surprised me.

I gazed at her with real wonder and increasing admiration. It
was six in the morning; she had had no sleep, and had just
finished a most fatiguing journey of some eight hours; but I had
never seen her so beautiful.

Our host approached, and I turned to him:

"What have you?"

There was pity in his glance.

"Aigs," said he, with an air of finality.

"Ah!" said Le Mire. "I want them--let's see--au beurre noire, if
you please."