5 June - officers' suppertime

Here Pelletier was more or less ready with an answer. "They wish to express their sympathies and apologies for the deficiencies of your previous dining experience," he said grandly. "They were sorry to hear of the illness you suffered, and they are eager to share the hospitality and respect of gentlemen soldiers - as no doubt they would wish to see their own wives treated were they to fall into British hands."

Was that a poor choice of words? Damn it, but talking to ladies was irritating. Pelletier wore many hats, but diplomat was one that did not fit him well. It was an itchy tight hat that made him look like a sycophant.

"So, my ladies. Will you come?"

The reasoning was certainly gentlemanly, though likely not true. Still, the offer of a good meal was tempting. Olivia turned to Jenny.

"What do you think?" she asked in English.

Jenny smirked. "Well they're going to make us go anyway," she said in an undertone.

"Quite true," Olivia said with a sigh.

She turned back to the two Frenchman, raising her chin haughtily.

"Very well," she said. "Lead on, sirs."

Falling into step behind the two women, Paol let Pelletier take the lead. The "discussion" had concluded far more quickly -- and more quietly -- than he had expected and, had the circumstances been otherwise, Paol might have felt a new respect for batman. Instead he felt only an increasingly compelling desire to punch the other man in the face.

"Who will we eat... With who is it we will eat?" Jenny managed to ask. It was always best to know one's enemy.

Olivia turned to look at their two escorts as they walked, curious to know as well.

"Lieutenants Leveque and Jarreau," answered Paol, "They are from our regiment, but a different company than Monsieur Goyette...." he trailed off. Those details were not important to the two women. "There's another officer, I think," he added after a moment, "Someone from the cavalry. Pelletier?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Chevenier," Pelletier said with a nod. He spoke to the ladies in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "A most charming gentleman. And here is the tent, but I have laid the table outside, because there is not room for so many chairs in the tent." He realized that he was talking too much, so he stopped and cleared his throat. Then he called to the officers within the tent. "Messieurs? Your guests have arrived."

Leveque bounded up from his seat at Pelletier's call and emerged from the tent, his face splitting into a broad grin. "Mesdames," he called cheerfully, "Welcome! Please, allow me to introduce myself: Lieutenant René Leveque." He swept a bow. "Your servant."

Jenny stared at him with something like incredulity. The whole situation was beyond strange, and naturally she did not trust him.

Olivia narrowed her eyes at Leveque's cheerful greeting. Then, with a polite, practiced smile, dipped a smooth curtsey.

"Olivia Graham," she said. "And this is Jenny Ross. We thank you for your invitation."

Pelletier quickly pulled out one of the chairs, and then gave Paol a significant look. "Kerjean!" he whispered, nodding his head toward the opposite chair.

Paol returned Pelletier's significant glance with a puzzled stare. "What?" he whispered back.

"The chair, the chair!" he whispered.

Oh. Oh. Fumbling hurriedly for the chair, Paol dragged it out and stepped back before it occurred to him to question what was going on. He edged closer to Pelletier. "What have you got me into?" he demanded in an undertone.

"Nothing! Pour the wine." And Pelletier disappeared behind the tent where his cooking fire was.

"Thank you," Olivia told the soldier, moving to sit down. She raised her eyebrows at Jenny, hoping the other woman would play along, at least until they got a better grasp of their hosts' intentions.

As she got settled, the tent flap was pushed aside again and another French officer joined the small group.

"Good evening," he said with a bow and a small smile. "Capitaine Jean-Fabrice Chevenier, at your service."

Turning his attention to Leveque, he held out the bottle of wine he was holding.

"Did not want to forget this, I'd wager," he said, grinning. "Jarreau is still sulking.

"What?" But Pelletier had already turned away, leaving Paol to regard the bottle of wine with consternation. Pour the wine? For officers? He stepped forward, but faltered, hesitating to draw further attention to himself.

Leveque returned the cavalryman's smile, "Naturally." Strolling back to the tent, he poked his head inside, "Sebastien! Do come out. Our guests are here!"

After what sounded like several mumbled expletives, Jarreau emerged from the tent and frowned at the two women.

Jenny had taken the seat opposite Olivia, and she raised her eyes to see the third officer emerging from the tent. He looked almost less pleased to be there than Jenny was, if that were possible. She met his gaze with an equally unfriendly stare. There was no reason to make things easier for the officers.

"Ah, come out of your cave, Jarreau?" Chevenier asked with a laugh. "Ladies, may I present Lieutenant Sebastien Jarreau."

Jenny gave the lieutenant a cool nod while mentally filing the name in her memory. Jarreau, Chevenier, Leveque. She did not feel like introducing herself, however. Let one of the other men do it. Instead, she reached for the glass that the private had just filled and took a sip of the wine. Surely the evening would go better with plenty of wine.

"Kerjean! Hist!" Pelletier whispered from the back corner of the tent, gesturing for the soldat to come near.

Grateful for any excuse to flee, Paol hurried over to Pelletier. "What?"

"Help me carry these bowls of soup. You take these for the ladies and I'll get the officers. Don't spill 'em. Whoops, let me switch that for Monsieur Jarreau. Go on now."