Behind him Bardolini stopped and looked up at the circle of sky above them, stretching ostentatiously. He ran a finger round his stock, then put on the hat which he had tucked under his arm. Drinkwater was amazed at the splendour of the man. He wore the tight kurtka deriving from the Polish lancers of the Grande Armée, a white jacket with a scarlet plastron and silver epaulettes. His long cavalry overalls were scarlet, trimmed with twin rows of silver lace, while his headdress also echoed the Polish fashion, a czapka with its peak and tall, square top, braided with silver and magnificendy plumed in white. Colonel Bardolini was turned out in la grande tenue of parade dress and wanted only a shave to complete the impression of military perfection.

'Come, Colonel. I have ordered some meat and wine for you, and if you wish we can send for hot water for you to shave…'

'Good!' snapped Bardolini and crossed the parade.

Patmore led them into another casemate which served as the officers' mess. It was simply furnished with a table, chairs, a sideboard and some plate. Another artillery lieutenant lounged over a glass and bottle, already well down the latter for his welcome was heartily indulgent.

'Please sit down, gentlemen. Henry Courtney  à votre service. Here, sir,' he said to Bardolini, 'your breakfast.' A gunner in shirt-sleeves brought in a platter of sliced meat and bread. Courtney poured wine into a second glass. Bardolini hesitated, then sat and fell ravenously upon the plate.

'Mr Courtney,' Drinkwater said as Bardolini devoured the food, 'would you do me the courtesy of allowing me a few moments of privacy with our guest?'

'Oh, I say, I've not finished ...'

'Harry!'

Courtney turned and caught the severe look in Patmore's eye. 'Oh, very well,' he said unconvincingly, and rose with a certain display of languid condescension, 'as you wish.'