'Do you call it a cheerful language, now ?' 'Yes,' replied Nicholas, 'I should say it was, certainly.' 'It's very much changed since my time, then,' said the collector, 'very much.' 'Was it a dismal one in your time ?' asked Nicholas, scarcely able to repress a smile.
'Very,' replied Mr Lillyvick, with some vehemence of manner.

'It's the war time that I speak of; the last war.

It may be a cheerful language.
I should be sorry to contradict anybody; but I can only say that I've heard the French prisoners, who were natives, and ought to know how to speak it, talking in such a dismal manner, that it made one miserable to hear them.

Ay, that I have, fifty times, sir--fifty times!' Mr Lillyvick was waxing so cross, that Mrs Kenwigs thought it expedient to motion to Nicholas not to say anything; and it was not until Miss Petowker had practised several blandishments, to soften the excellent old gentleman, that he deigned to break silence by asking, 'What's the water in French, sir ?' 'L'EAU,' replied Nicholas.
'Ah!' said Mr Lillyvick, shaking his head mournfully, 'I thought as much.

Lo, eh?
I don't think anything of that language--nothing at all.' 'I suppose the children may begin, uncle ?' said Mrs Kenwigs.
'Oh yes; they may begin, my dear,' replied the collector, discontentedly.