"Directly, directly, captain."
"On my soul, something extraordinary is taking place," Crevel said to himself as he descended to his bar. "The captain never had a very agreeable way with him, but, on the word of Crevel, I never saw him as he is tonight; it would be dangerous to touch him with a pair of tongs. What can have happened to him? Ah, stuff, it concerns him, after all: and then, who knows; perhaps he is on the point of becoming a drunkard."
After this aside, the worthy landlord manufactured a splendid bowl of punch, which he carried up to Leon so soon as it was ready.
"There," he said, as he placed the bowl on the table; "I think that will please you, captain."
"Thanks! but what is this?" Leon said, as he looked at what Crevel had brought—"there is only one glass."
"Why, you are alone."
"That is true; but I trust you will do me the pleasure of drinking with me."
"I should be most unwilling, captain, to deprive myself of the honour of drinking with you, but—"
Crevel, through his stupefaction, was unable to complete his sentence, for the invitation which the captain gave him surprised him beyond all expression. Let us add that it was the first time such an honour had been done him.
"In that case bring a glass for yourself."