By the four open windows overlooking the acacias of the courtyard there entered the clear light of the close of a stormy day, with the atmosphere purified thereby though without sufficiently cooling it.

The light reflected from the humid corner of trees tinged the haze-filled room with green and made leaf shadows dance along the table-cloth, from which came a vague aroma of dampness and mildew.
Two large mirrors, one at each end of the room, seemed to stretch out the table.

The heavy crockery with which it was set was beginning to turn yellow and the cutlery was scratched and grimed with grease.

Each time a waiter came through the swinging doors from the kitchen a whiff of odorous burnt lard came with him.
"Don't all talk at once," said Boche, as everyone remained silent with his nose in his plate.
They were drinking the first glass of wine as their eyes followed two meat pies which the waiters were handing round when My-Boots entered the room.
"Well, you're a scurvy lot, you people!" said he.

"I've been wearing my pins out for three hours waiting on that road, and a gendarme even came and asked me for my papers.