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.
"It's not so bad after all," he thought to himself.

"Anyhow bread seems plentiful, so there's no fear of my starving." He followed his companion's example and made his way steadily through a number of dishes all new and strange to him; neither his sight nor his taste gave him the slightest indication as to what meat he was eating.
"I suppose it's all right," he concluded; "but what people can want to make such messes of their food for I can't make out.

A slice of good roast beef is worth the lot of it; but really it isn't nasty; some of the dishes are not bad at all if one only knew what they were made of." M.du Tillet offered him some wine, which he tasted but shook his head, for it seemed rough and sour; but he poured himself out some water.

Presently a happy idea seized him; he touched the bread and said interrogatively, "Bread ?" M.du Tillet at once replied "Pain," which Harry repeated after him.
The ice thus broken, conversation began, and Harry soon learned the French for knife, fork, spoon, plate, and various other articles, and felt that he was fairly on the way towards talking French.
After the meal was over M.du Tillet rose and put on his hat, and signed to Harry to accompany him.