My own maid will wait on me!" Whether purposely or not, she cast such a chill upon the company that even Georges Coutlass subsided within himself, and, though he ate like a ravening animal, did not talk.

Almost the only conversation was between the owner and the native servants, who waited at table abominably and were noisily reprimanded, and argued back.

Each reprimand increased their inefficiency and insolence.

Natives detest a fussy, noisy white man.
Bad food, indifferent cooking, and no conversation worthy of the name produced gloom that drove every one from table as soon as possible.
Even the proprietor, with unsatiable curiosity exuding from him, but no spirit for forcing issues, departed to a sanctum of his own up somewhere under the roof.

The boys cleared the tables.