"Why don't you answer the woman?"
"I don't know what she says."
"Are you acting, or is it real?"
Bertie only wished that he had been acting, and that his ignorance had not been real. At Mecklemburg House the idea of learning French had seemed to him absurd, an altogether frivolous waste of time. What would he not have given then--and still more, what would he not have given a little later on--to have made better use of his opportunities when he had them? Circumstances alter cases.
The captain looked at him for a moment or two with his fierce black eyes; then he said something to the old woman which made her laugh. Not a pleasant laugh by any means, and it did not add to Bertie's sense of comfort that such a laugh was being laughed at him.
"Sit up to the table!"
The old woman had laid the table, and had then disappeared to fetch the food to put before her guests. Bertie sat up. The meal appeared. Not by any means a bad one--better, like the room itself, than might have been expected.
When they had finished, and the old crone had cleared the things away, the captain stood up and lighted a cigar.
"Now, my lad, you'd better tumble into bed. I've a strong belief in the virtue of early hours. There's nothing like sleep for boys, even for those with a turn for humour."
Bertie had not himself a taste for early hours as a rule--it may be even questioned if the captain had--but he was ready enough for bed just then, and he had scarcely got between the sheets before he was asleep. But what surprised him was to see the captain prepare himself for bed as well. Bertie had one bed, the captain the other. The lights were put out; and at an unusually early hour silence reigned.