Read the passage and answer the questions given below it.
Comprehension:

While I waited expectantly, Madame came in and told me that there was no room at all for me in the hotel, not a bed, not a corner. She was extremely friendly and seemed to find a fund of secret amusement in the fact; she looked at me as though expecting me to break into delighted laughter. “To-morrow,” she said, “there may be. I am expecting a young gentleman who is suddenly taken ill to move from number eleven. He is at present at the chemist's perhaps you would care to see the room?” “Not at all,” said I. “Neither shall I wish tomorrow to sleep in the bedroom of an indisposed young gentleman.” “But he will be gone,” cried Madame, opening her blue eyes wide and laughing with that French cordiality so enchanting to English hearing. I was too tired and hungry to feel either appreciative or argumentative. “Perhaps you can recommend me another hotel?” “Impossible!” She shook her head and turned up her eyes, mentally counting over the blue bows painted on the ceiling. “You see, it is the season in Bruges, and people do not care to let their rooms for a very short time” not a glance at my little suit case lying between us, but I looked at it gloomily, and it seemed to dwindle before my desperate gaze become small enough to hold nothing but a collapsible folding tooth-brush. “My large box is at the station,” I said coldly, buttoning my gloves.

Madame started. “You have more luggage. Then you intend to make a long stay in Bruges, perhaps?” “At least a fortnight perhaps a month.” I shrugged my shoulders. “One moment,” said Madame. “I shall see what I can do.” She disappeared, I am sure not further than the other side of the door, for she reappeared immediately and told me I might have a room at her private house “just round the corner and kept by an old servant who,
although she has a wall eye, has been in our family for fifteen years. The porter will take you there, and you can have supper before you go.”
I was the only guest in the dining-room. A tired waiter provided me with an omelet and a pot of coffee, then leaned against a sideboard and watched me while I ate, the limp table napkin over his arm seeming to symbolise the very man. “Are you ready, Madame?” asked the waiter. “It is I who carry your luggage.” “Quite ready.”