Before the other man, although his appearance was homely and his dress
almost untidy, he bowed very low indeed, and accepted his proffered hand
as a mark of favor.
The Duc de Bergillac was tall, sallow, with black moustache and
imperial. He possessed all the personal essentials of the aristocrat,
and he had the air of one accustomed to command.
"Henri," he said, "your young friend is with you?"
"But certainly," his nephew answered with a sigh. "Am I not always
obedient? He has scarcely been out of my sight since we arrived."
"Very good! You saw us arrive just now. Did you mention the name of
Monsieur Grisson?" the Duke asked.
"But certainly not!" Henri answered.
The Duke nodded.
"You have discretion," he said. "Monsieur Grisson is here incognito. He
wishes to hear your young friend's story from his own lips."
The Duke's companion nodded silently. He had the air of a silent man. He
was short, inclined to be stout, and his dress and bearing were almost
bourgeois. His features were large and not particularly intelligent, his
cheeks were puffy, and his gray beard ill-humored. He had the double
neck of the Frenchman of the lower class who has not denied himself the
joys of the cuisine, and his appearance would have been hopelessly
commonplace but for the deep-set brilliant black eyes which lit up his
whole face and gave it an aspect of power.
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