"A young gentleman desires to see M. du Tillet," he said, and Harry entered.
A tall, big man, whose proportions at once disappointed Harry's preconceived notions as to the smallness and leanness of Frenchmen, rose from the table at which he was writing.
"Monsieur—Sandwith?" he said interrogatively. "I am glad to see you."
Harry did not understand the latter portion of the remark, but he caught the sound of his name.
"That's all right," he said nodding. "How do you do, M. du Tillet?"
The French gentleman bowed; Harry bowed; and then they looked at each other. There was nothing more to say. A smile stole over Harry's face, and broke into a frank laugh. The Frenchman smiled, put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and said:
"Brave garcon!" and Harry felt they were friends.
M. du Tillet's face bore an expression of easy good temper. He wore a wig with long curls; he had a soldier's bearing, and a scar on his left cheek; his complexion was dark and red, his eyebrows black and bushy. After a pause he said:
"Are you hungry?" and then put imaginary food to his mouth.
"You mean will I eat anything?" Harry translated. "Yes, that I will if there's anything fit to eat. I begin to feel as hungry as a hunter, and no wonder, for I am as hollow as a drum!"