“Come,” he said to himself, “let me try if he will be more tractable than the other;” and he tapped gently at the door.
“On y va,” (coming) exclaimed Peppino, who from frequenting the house of Signor Pastrini understood French perfectly in all its idioms.
Danglars immediately recognized him as the man who had called out in such a furious manner, “Put in your head!” But this was not the time for recrimination, so he assumed his most agreeable manner and said with a gracious smile:
“Excuse me, sir, but are they not going to give me any dinner?”
“Does your excellency happen to be hungry?”
“Happen to be hungry,—that’s pretty good, when I haven’t eaten for twenty-four hours!” muttered Danglars. Then he added aloud, “Yes, sir, I am hungry—very hungry.”
“And your excellency wants something to eat?”
“At once, if possible”
“Nothing easier,” said Peppino. “Here you can get anything you want; by paying for it, of course, as among honest folk.”
“Of course!” cried Danglars. “Although, in justice, the people who arrest and imprison you, ought, at least, to feed you.”
“That is not the custom, excellency,” said Peppino.
“A bad reason,” replied Danglars, who reckoned on conciliating his keeper; “but I am content. Let me have some dinner!”
“At once! What would your excellency like?”
And Peppino placed his pan on the ground, so that the steam rose directly under the nostrils of Danglars. “Give your orders.”
“Have you kitchens here?”
“Kitchens?—of course—complete ones.”