“Speak, sir,” I answered. “I suppose this condition is one which a man of honour may accept?”
“Yes, sir; it is this. It is possible that certain events, unforeseen, may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some days, as the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect from you, more than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus acting, I take all the responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I make it an impossibility for you to see what ought not to be seen. Do you accept this condition?”
Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was preparing for me, this might not be the least.
“We accept,” I answered; “only I will ask your permission, sir, to address one question to you—one only.”
“Speak, sir.”
“You said that we should be free on board.”
“Entirely.”
“I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?”
“Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that passes here,—save under rare circumstances,—the liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I.”
It was evident that we did not understand one another.