Roland accepted.

Like all soldiers who had fought the hard wars of the Revolution, when bread was often lacking, Roland cared little for what he ate; he had acquired the habit of eating whatever was put before him as a precaution against the days when there might be nothing at all.

Sir John's attention in asking him to make a French breakfast was scarcely noticed by him at all.
But what Roland did notice was Sir John's preoccupation of mind.

It was evident that Sir John had something on his lips which he hesitated to utter.

Roland thought he had better help him.
So, when breakfast was nearly over, Roland, with his usual frankness, which almost bordered upon brutality at times, leaned his elbows on the table, settled his chin in his hands, and said: "Well, my dear Sir John, you have something to say to your friend Roland that you don't dare put into words." Sir John started, and, from pale as he was, turned crimson.
"Confound it!" continued Roland, "it must be hard to get out; but, Sir John, if you have many things to ask me, I know but few that I have the right to refuse you.