As we expressed a hope that he would be good enough to furnish us with a breakfast, he assured us that he had no provisions, regarding us, as he said this, with a look that was unmistakably suspicious.
"You may take us in," Rouletabille said to him, "we are not policemen." "I'm not afraid of the police--I'm not afraid of anyone!" replied the man.
I had made my friend understand by a sign that we should do better not to insist; but, being determined to enter the inn, he slipped by the man on the doorstep and was in the common room.
"Come on," he said, "it is very comfortable here." A good fire was blazing in the chimney, and we held our hands to the warmth it sent out; it was a morning in which the approach of winter was unmistakable.

The room was a tolerably large one, furnished with two heavy tables, some stools, a counter decorated with rows of bottles of syrup and alcohol.

Three windows looked out on to the road.

A coloured advertisement lauded the many merits of a new vermouth.

On the mantelpiece was arrayed the innkeeper's collection of figured earthenware pots and stone jugs.
"That's a fine fire for roasting a chicken," said Rouletabille.