who was standing all this time on the stairs behind me.

I had expected from the cook's phrase that something would be thrown at
me which I should have to catch, and was accordingly somewhat relieved at
the true state of affairs. On re-entering the _salle a manger_ I was
greeted by many cries and wavings, and looking in their direction
perceived everybody uproariously seated at wooden benches which were
placed on either side of an enormous wooden table. There was a tiny gap
on one bench where a place had been saved for me by B., with the
assistance of Monsieur Auguste, Count Bragard, Harree and several other
fellow-convicts. In a moment I had straddled the bench and was occupying
the gap, spoon and cup in hand, and ready for anything.

The din was perfectly terrific. It had a minutely large quality. Here and
there, in a kind of sonal darkness, solid sincere unintelligible absurd
wisps of profanity heavily flickered. Optically the phenomenon was
equally remarkable: seated waggingly swaying corpselike figures,
swaggering, pounding with their little spoons, roaring, hoarse, unkempt.
Evidently Monsieur le Surveillant had been forgotten. All at once the
roar bulged unbearably. The roguish man, followed by the _chef_ himself,
entered with a suffering waddle, each of them bearing a huge bowl of
steaming something. At least six people immediately rose, gesturing and
imploring: "_Ici_"--"_Mais non, ici_"--"_Mettez par ici_"--

The bearers plumped their burdens carefully down, one at the head of the
table and one in the middle. The men opposite the bowls stood up. Every
man seized the empty plate in front of him and shoved it into his
neighbour's hand; the plates moved toward the bowls, were filled amid
uncouth protestations and accusations--"_Mettez plus que ca_"--"_C'est
pas juste, alors_"--"_Donnez-moi encore de pommes_"--"_Nom de Dieu,