“Comment allez-vous?” he said.
“That means, ‘How do you do,’ Bets,” explained Larry.
“Très bien, merci,” said Pip, feeling that he must say something to justify his mother’s pride in his French. But it was one thing to write French sentences in school, when you could look up every single word, and quite another to say something ordinary. For the life of him Pip couldn’t think of a single thing to say in French.
Bets was sorry for the boy. She went forward and took his hand. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “Why didn’t Fatty come with you?”
“Je ne comprends pas,” said the boy, in a rather silly, high voice.
“That means he doesn’t understand,” said Pip to Bets. “Let me try now!” He cleared his throat, thought hard, and addressed the boy.
“Où est Fatty - er, Frederick, I mean.”
“Je ne comprends pas,” said the boy again, and twisted his cap round and round furiously.
“Golly! he doesn’t even understand his own language,” said Pip, in disgust. “I wonder what his name is. I’ll ask him. I know the French sentence for ‘What is your name?’ ”
He turned to the boy again. “Comment appellez-vous?” he said.