5 June - officers' suppertime

"Well sir, from what I heard," Pelletier said, dropping into the tone of voice reserved for gossip as he brushed his officer's jacket once more, "They sent for the women and gave them fancy frocks, but the women got sick and missed the whole supper. Jourdain's man said they slept in his tent, but he had a touch of wine and didn't come back till morning."

Leveque glanced up, his brow creasing with mild concern. "Did the ladies recover?"

Pelletier shrugged. "One went to the surgeon in the morning. Other than that, I never heard, sir." Though presumably he would have heard if the women had keeled over dead.

"Leveque!" Chevenier called from outside the tent. "Are you decent yet? Or are you still preening?"

Leveque's face broke into a delighted grin. "Chevenier!" he called, "Come in, come in!"

"Don't mind if I do," Chevenier said, ducking into the tent. He held up a bottle of wine, grinning back at his friend.

"Drink before supper?" he asked.

"I knew there was a reason I invited you to these affairs. Pelletier? Two glasses, if you please. No, better make it three. Sebastien ought to be here before long. But please," he turned back to Chevenier, "Make yourself comfortable."

"You invite me because I'm better company than Sebastien," Chevenier said with a laugh. He handed the bottle to Pelletier with a nod of thanks. "And because I sometimes let you win at cards."

He moved to sit. "So, who will be at this pleasant little soirée?"

Pelletier gave the officers a grin and set out three glasses on the table, taking little trouble to hide the fourth that was for himself. "Open it now, sir?" he asked, "Or shall I wait for Lieutenant Jarreau?"

"No, go ahead and pour it. Thank you, Pelletier. If I know Jarreau, he will have a head start on us as it is." Recalling Chevenier's question, he continued, "I had thought it would be just the three of us. However," he hesitated, still unsure of the idea, "Pelletier informs me that there are two English women... Goyette and Jourdain attempted to entertain them several nights ago, but the ladies became suddenly ill. I thought -- if they are recovered -- we might make amends for that particular disaster. Some female company at dinner might be refreshing." He shrugged awkwardly. "If you don't object, that is."

"No, no - quite alright," Chevenier said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm sure they'll be grateful for a real meal."

He hesitated, frowning for a moment. There was plenty of gossip spreading about Jourdain and his two English guests, but now was perhaps not the time to pursue any of it. Chevenier shook his head, decidedly pushing any concerns away.

"Do they speak French?" he asked.

"Ah." That was an excellent question. "Pelletier? Does your source of gossip give you any idea of the two ladies' linguistic abilities?"

The batman paused to consider. "I think they must do, sir, or at least one, because one of the lads said that she told him to - well, I shouldn't repeat it in your presence, sirs, but I believe it was meant to be insulting. They were none too pleased with the invitation. Though from what I hear, their main complaint was with Mister Goyette." That was no surprise, but Pelletier could hardly say so out loud.

Leveque's expression brightened considerably at that news. "Wonderful! That is settled then. Pelletier, that will be two extra places at the table this evening. Do you believe you could persuade your source to escort the two ladies here?"

His source? He had many sources, but there was no need to tell his officer that. "I believe I could, sir," he said with a nod.

"Very good. Please arrange it. And tell—" The tent flap folded open unceremoniously to admit Jarreau.

"René, I really don't think that—" He stopped at the sight of Chevenier, colouring slightly. "Ah... your pardon."

"Not at all," Chevenier drawled, grinning. "Do continue."

"Sebastien! You came!"

Giving his friend a look which implied he had not been given much choice in the matter, Jarreau mumbled something indistinct and snatched up the unclaimed wine glass from the table. "Yours?" he asked Chevenier, downing a gulp of it.

"Oh! And I've some excellent news, Jarreau," Leveque exclaimed, "There will be some English ladies joining us at dinner this evening."

Jarreau choked on his wine. "What?" he demanded when he could once more breathe properly.

"Indeed - it seems we are now charitably feeding hungry women!" Chevenier put in cheerfully, enjoying the red colouring Jarreau's face. "Sister Sebastienne makes a charming nun, does he not?"

He winked in Leveque's direction, chuckling slightly as he took a sip of his own glass of wine. This certainly promised to be an entertaining evening.

"You must be joking," Jenny said slowly, staring in disbelief at the soldat who had delivered the invitation - or order, rather. It was the same fellow, Paul, that she remembered from before. "Are you mad?" Then, realizing that she was speaking English, she tried again in French. "No."

Paol looked at them miserably. "I am sorry. You have to come."

"I don't think so," Olivia said, folding her arms and glaring at Paol. "We already did this, and it was very bad. Your officers are all bad men."

"You can come with me," he said, his voice going flat. "Or I can get others and you will be forced to go."

Kerjean was not helping the situation. "Monsieur Leveque and Monsieur Chevenier are good men," Pelletier insisted, almost pleadingly. He carefully omitted mention of Jarreau, who was not a bad man particularly, but not worth mentioning right now. "They are married, happily married, and thus know the discomfort of ladies traveling with an army." Good heavens, but this was difficult invention. He should go on the stage.

Olivia raised an eyebrow at the new soldier.

"If they are happily married," she asked tartly, "why do they want our company at all?"