He stretched slowly, carefully his legs, causing the springs to moan ominously and cursed as his toes hit the metal bars.
The room – a "chambre de bonne", the old lady said... a "maid bedroom"... -, was slightly smaller than a closet, with a short, narrow, obviously single bed. The woman had pointed at a blanket and a pillow on a chair.
"Un de vous va devoir coucher là..." "One of you will have to sleep here"
Illya, the Russian, his new partner had thanked her in his impeccable French and she had left, adding that the bathroom was at the end of the corridor.
"At least, we won't have to use a "pot de chambre"... A chamber pot...", Illya stated with an insufferable half smile.
Napoleon rolled his eyes. Apparently his partner was enjoying himself. Though, he was about to suggest they could toss a coin when he realized that Illya had already set up the pillow and the blanket on the chair.
At the moment, Napoleon Solo was fully awake, fighting an irrepressible craving for moving, tossing and turning which he couldn't do because of the squeaking, creaking it would result in.
Of course, there was not even a curtain and the room bathed in the lights of the street.
It would a long night. A very long night.
Icing on the cake, Illya, his partner was soundly asleep, literally spread on the chair, blissfully unaware of the dazzling light, of the uncomfortable position and of his partner's misery.