"Farewell, lad," said Scheller again, and, "Farewell," John responded.
When he was gone John sank back into his chair. He had not been able to
secure for the night more than a bench in the great room, but with his
blankets he could do very well. Besides, there was a certain advantage
in the place, as a dozen others would be sleeping in it, making it a
news center.
He bought a supper of cheese and sausage, and continued to watch the
people who came to the Inn of the Golden Lion. He thought Weber might
return, and if so he meant to speak with him, if a possible chance
should occur, but there was no sign of the Alsatian.
The heat and the smoke made him doze, by and by, and knowing that it
would be long before the room could be cleared, he resigned himself at
last to sleep, a circumstance that attracted no attention as others also
were sleeping in their chairs.
When he awoke it was past midnight, and only those who were to make it a
bedroom remained. Then he stretched his hardy form, wrapped in his
blankets, on a bench beside the wall and fell promptly into the deep
slumber of the young and just.
He awoke once or twice in the night and heard healthy snores about him.
German civilians and Lorrainers were asleep on the benches and they
slept well. The fire in the great, ancient fireplace had burned low, but
a fine bed of coals glowed there and cast quivering lights over the
sleepers.
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