"Go; you tease me by all this bosh," said I, impatiently.
"Me poor slave, but me known to Obi—me savey better than bucra man," replied Benoit, resuming his fetish and broad-leaved castor, with a half-mock air of offended dignity; "but le capitaine would like something to eat—just leetle picking?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Young leg ob monkey—bon, good, with pepper and pimento—très bon!"
"No, no."
"Guana—like big green lizard—tender, sweet—dam bon très good; you savey it?"
"Stuff; get me a bit of boiled chicken and a glass of Nevis wine; but ere you go, tell me where I am, as I have naturally some curiosity about it."
"In the villa de Thoisy."
"What—in the house of Monsieur Thoisy, whom I saved from Scipio at the pass of Dos d'Ane!"
"Ya, massa, oui," replied the negro, with a grin from ear to ear; but adding gravely, "but Massa de Thoisy be far happier if offered up to Obi."