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!"

His nod was a sufficient answer. M. du Tillet took his hat, opened
the door, and bowed for Harry to precede him.

Harry hesitated, but believing it would be the polite way to do as
he was told, returned the bow and went out. The Frenchman put his
hand on his shoulder, and they went down stairs together and took
their seats in the salon, where his companion gave an order, and
in two or three minutes a bowl of broth was placed before each of
them.

It fully answered Harry's ideas as to the thinness of French soup,
for it looked like dirty water with a few pieces of bread and some
scraps of vegetables floating in it. He was astonished at the piece
of bread, nearly a yard long, placed on the table. M. du Tillet
cut a piece off and handed it to him. He broke a portion of it into
his broth, and found, when he tasted it, that it was much nicer
than it looked.