"I was abducted," said the old gentleman, lowering his voice, "by an emissary of the King of America. M. Bourdon is a cousin of the king, and he is in the plot. But they won't keep me here long."
"I hope not," said Ben, politely.
"The King of Spain has promised to send an army to deliver me. I only received his letter last week. You will not tell M. Bourdon, will you?"
"Certainly not," answered Ben.
"It is well; I thought I could rely upon your honor."
"My friend," said another voice, that of his left-hand neighbor, "you are losing your time in talking with that old fool. The fact is, he isn't right here," and he touched his head.
The Pope appeared deeply absorbed in thought, and did not hear this complimentary remark.
"He thinks he is the Pope. He is no more the Pope than I am."
Ben nodded non-committally.
"He ought to be here. But I—I am the victim of an infamous horde of enemies, who have placed me here."