Thus pressed, Justin laid aside his newspapers and came and seated himself at the board.
An orderly waited on the two officers.
Monck carved the turkey, and requested Colonel Rosenthal to cut the ham.
The orderly handed the plates, and the dinner commenced.
Monck, the guerrilla, is said never to have appeared to greater advantage than when seated at the head of his own table. He was really, as he had proclaimed himself to be, a good feeder. He was also a good drinker, and he enjoyed eating and drinking excessively, especially in the company of an agreeable companion, such as he was disposed to consider his prisoner.
Monck was obstinate and stolid, and disposed to enjoy himself; so he either would not, or could not, perceive that Colonel Rosenthal shared his society under protest, or had done so, rather; for now the Russian’s rhyme was running in Justin’s head, and somewhat modifying his feelings:
“Where the bread and salt are met
All thoughts of hate should pass away.”
The dinner was very protracted. The major, and of course his prisoner guest, lingered long over the first course, longer still over the second, and longest over the third; so that it was after six o’clock, and growing dark, when Monck called out to his attendants:
“Clear the table now; and bring us lights, and more brandy, and pipes, and tobacco. We’ll make a night of it!——And here! throw some more logs on to the fire. Let us have a roaring blaze!”