Nevertheless one girl of bad
character, in whom an instinct of privilege with soldiers is
already dawning, does peep in at the safest window for a moment,
before a glance and a clink from the sentinel sends her flying.
Most of what she sees she has seen before: the vineyard at the
back, with the old winepress and a cart among the vines; the door
close down on her right leading to the inn entry; the landlord's
best sideboard, now in full action for dinner, further back on
the same side; the fireplace on the other side, with a couch near
it, and another door, leading to the inner rooms, between it and
the vineyard; and the table in the middle with its repast of
Milanese risotto, cheese, grapes, bread, olives, and a big
wickered flask of red wine.
The landlord, Giuseppe Grandi, is also no novelty. He is a
swarthy, vivacious, shrewdly cheerful, black-curled, bullet
headed, grinning little man of 40. Naturally an excellent host,
he is in quite special spirits this evening at his good fortune
in having the French commander as his guest to protect him
against the license of the troops, and actually sports a pair of
gold earrings which he would otherwise have hidden carefully
under the winepress with his little equipment of silver plate.
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