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. "I think I would rather dine at the hotel," thought Ben; but the diet was not by any means the worst thing of which he complained. "If I were free I would not mind how poor and plain my fare was," he thought. His companions finished dinner before him, and had leisure to bestow some attention upon him. "My little gentleman, do you come from Rome?" asked the venerable old gentleman on his right. "No, sir," answered Ben. "I am sorry. I wished to ask you a question." "Indeed, sir. Perhaps I might answer it even now. I have been in Florence." "No; that will not do; and yet, perhaps you may have met persons coming from Rome?" "I did, monsieur." "Then perhaps they told you how things were going on." "Very well, I believe, monsieur." "No, that could not be," said the old gentleman, shaking his head. "I am sure nothing would go well without me." "Do you, then, live in Rome?" asked Ben, curiously. "Surely!" exclaimed the old man. "Did you not know that the Pope lived in Rome?" "But what has that to do with you, sir?" "A great deal. Know, my little gentleman, that I--to whom you are speaking--am the Pope." This was said with an air of importance. "There's no doubt about his being insane," thought Ben. "How, then, do you happen to be here?" asked our hero, interested to see what his companion would say. "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."