He knew Hungarian, Latin, and Slovack well enough to mix them all up together; German he could read, though he did not understand it, but this was not necessary, for he was not expected to read for his own edification.
This worthy man, then, grew prematurely old in reading, year out year in, aloud to Mr.Demetrius, one after another, all the German translations of French novels procurable at Robert Lempel's circulating library without understanding a single word of them.

Mr.Demetrius had, naturally, no library of his own, for reading to him, in his condition, was pretty much the same as medicine, and who would ever think of keeping a dispensary on his own premises?
I may add that the reader received free board and lodging and ten florins a month pocket-money for his services.
On that particular night when Mr.John flung out of the house in such a violent rage, Mr.Demetrius was particularly sleepless.

I know not whether Monte Cristo, the first volume of which honest Margari happened to be reading just then, was the cause of this, or whether it was due to the old man's nervousness about the terrible things John was likely to do, but the fact remains that poor Margari on this occasion got no respite from his labours.

At other times Margari did manage to get a little relief.

Whenever he observed that Mr.Demetrius was beginning to draw longer breaths than usual he would let his head sink down on his book and fall asleep immediately till the awakened tyrant roused him out of his slumbers and made him go on again.