Half an hour later Ben heard the key grate in the lock, and, fixing his eyes on the entrance, he saw Francois enter.
"Monsieur, dinner is ready," he said.
Ben, notwithstanding his disagreeable situation, felt that he, too, was ready for the dinner. He was glad to find that it was not to be served to him in his own room. He would have a chance of seeing the other inmates of the house.
"Where is it?" he asked.
"Follow me," answered Francois, of course in French.
He led the way, and Ben followed him into a lower room, long and narrow, which was used as the dining-room. There were no side-windows, and it would have been quite dark but for a narrow strip of window near the ceiling.
Around a plain table sat a curious collection of persons. It was easy to see that something was the matter with them, for I do not wish to have it understood that all the inmates of the house were, like our hero, perfectly sane. M. Bourdon was not wholly a quack, but he was fond of money, and, looking through the eyes of self-interest, he was willing to consider Ben insane, although he knew very well that he was as rational as himself.
"Sit here, monsieur," said Francois.
Ben took the seat indicated, and naturally turned to survey his immediate neighbors.
The one on the right-hand was a tall, venerable-looking man, with white hair and a flowing beard, whose manner showed the most perfect decorum. The other was a thin, dark-complexioned man, of bilious aspect, and shifty, evasive eyes. Neither noticed Ben at first, as the dinner appeared to engross their first attention. This consisted of a thin broth and a section of a loaf of coarse bread as the first course. Ben had been accustomed to more luxurious fare, and he was rather surprised to see with what enjoyment his neighbors partook of it. Next came a plate of meat, and this was followed by a small portion of grapes. There was nothing more. It was clear that M. Bourdon did not consider rich fare good for his patients.