“Yes, I learned it of my sisters at home,” answered Paul.
“Then we must be friends, for you can sympathise with me more than can these,” said Alphonse.
“Do not say so to them,” observed Paul; “they may not like it. I am but a poor ship’s boy and their servant.”
“Misfortune makes all people equal, and your tone of voice and the way you speak French, convince me that you are of gentle birth,” said Alphonse.
It is possible that the midshipmen might have looked at Paul with more respect from hearing him speak a language of which they were ignorant, though some sneered at him for talking the Frenchman’s lingo.
Paul, as soon as he could leave the berth, hurried to the side of Devereux. He found the surgeon there.
“Ah! come to look after your patient, boy?” said Mr Lancet. “You have performed your duty so well, that I have begged Mr Order to relieve you from your attendance on the young gentlemen, and to give you to me altogether.”
Paul thanked Mr Lancet, but told him frankly, that though he was very glad to be of service to Mr Devereux, or to any other wounded shipmate, he wished to learn to be a sailor, and therefore that he would rather be employed on deck; still he was gratified at what Mr Lancet had said.
He devoted himself, however, to Devereux, by whose side he spent every moment not absolutely required for sleep or for his meals. Mr Order sent another boy, Tom Buckle, to attend on the young gentlemen, who came to the conclusion that he was a perfect lout after Paul.
“There is something in that youngster after all,” observed Bruff, who resolved to try what he was really worth, and to befriend him accordingly.