"Don't you believe me?" asked Ben, watching the face of his listener. "I hear a great many strange stories," said the doctor. "I have to be cautious about what I believe." "But surely you will believe me, knowing that I am perfectly sane?" "That is the question to be determined," said M. Bourdon, smiling. "Won't you investigate it?" pleaded Ben. "It is a crime to keep me here, when I am of sound mind." "Whenever I am convinced of that I will let you go. Meanwhile you must be quiet, and submit to the rules of my establishment." "How long do you expect to keep me here?" asked Ben. "As long as you require it and your board is paid." Ben looked despondent, for this assurance held out very little hope of release. Still he was young, and youth is generally hopeful. Something might turn up. Ben was determined that something should turn up. He was not going to remain shut up in a mad-house any longer than he could help. He remained silent, and M. Bourdon touched a little bell upon a small table beside the door. The summons was answered by a stout man with rough, black locks, who looked like a hotel porter. "Francois," said the doctor, in the French language, "conduct this young man to No. 19." "At once, _Monsieur le Docteur_," answered the attendant. "Come with me, young man." He signed to Ben to follow him, and our hero, realizing the utter futility of resistance, did so. "Go ahead, monsieur," said Francois, when they came to a staircase. Ben understood him very well, though he spoke in French, thanks to his assiduous study of the last four weeks. They walked along a narrow corridor, and Francois, taking from his pocket a bunch of keys, carefully selected one and opened the door. "_Entrez monsieur._" Ben found himself in an apartment about the size of a hall bedroom, with one window, and a narrow bedstead, covered with an exceedingly thin mattress. There was no carpet on the floor, and the furniture was very scanty. It consisted of but one chair, a cheap bureau, and a washstand. And this was to be Ben's home--for how long? "I must get acquainted with this man," thought Ben. "I must try to win his goodwill, and perhaps he may be able to help me to escape." "Is your name Francois?" he asked, as the man lingered at the door. "_Oui, monsieur._" "And how long have you been here--in this asylum?" "How long, monsieur? Five years, nearly." "There is some mistake about my being here, Francois. I don't look crazy, do I?" "No, monsieur; but----" "But what?" "That proves nothing." "There is a plot against me, and I am put here by an enemy. I want you to be my friend. Here, take this." Ben produced from his pocket a silver franc piece and offered it to Francois, who took it eagerly, for the man's besetting sin was avarice. "Thanks, monsieur--much thanks!" he said, his stolid face lighting up. "I will be a friend." "Francois!"