The
interpreter had great difficulty in explaining what O'Brien said; but as
O'Brien told me afterwards, the answer was put down _doubtful_.
They all left the room except the officer, who then, to our
astonishment, addressed us in good English. "Gentlemen, I have obtained
permission from the governor for you to remain in my house, until Mr
Simple is recovered. Mr O'Brien, it is necessary that I should receive
your parole of honour that you will not attempt to escape. Are you
willing to give it?"
O'Brien was quite amazed; "Murder an' Irish," cried he; "so you speak
English, colonel. It was not very genteel of you not to say so,
considering how we've been talking our little secrets together."
"Certainly, Mr O'Brien, not more necessary," replied the officer,
smiling, "than for you to tell me that you understood French."
"O, bother!" cried O'Brien, "how nicely I'm caught in my own trap!
You're an Irishman, sure?"
"I'm of Irish descent," replied the officer, "and my name, as well as
yours, is O'Brien. I was brought up in this country, not being permitted
to serve my own, and retain the religion of my forefathers. I may now be
considered as a Frenchman, retaining nothing of my original country,
except the language, which my mother taught me, and a warm feeling
towards the English wherever I meet them. But to the question, Mr
O'Brien, will you give your parole?"
"The word of an Irishman, and the hand to boot," replied O'Brien,
shaking the colonel by the hand; "and you're more than doubly sure, for
I'll never go away and leave little Peter here; and as for carrying him
on my back, I've had enough of that already.
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