Chương Chương 7 · On the same day that the crime of La Jonchere was discovered, and

precisely at the hour that M. Tabaret made his memorable examination

in the victim’s chamber, the Viscount Albert de Commarin entered his

carriage, and proceeded to the Northern railway station, to meet his

father.

The young man was very pale: his pinched features, his dull eyes, his

blanched lips, in fact his whole appearance denoted either overwhelming

fatigue or unusual sorrow. All the servants had observed, that, during

the past five days, their young master had not been in his ordinary

condition: he spoke but little, ate almost nothing, and refused to see

any visitors. His valet noticed that this singular change dated from

the visit, on Sunday morning, of a certain M. Noel Gerdy, who had been

closeted with him for three hours in the library.

The Viscount, gay as a lark until the arrival of this person, had, from

the moment of his departure, the appearance of a man at the point of

death. When setting forth to meet his father, the viscount appeared to

suffer so acutely that M. Lubin, his valet, entreated him not to go out;

suggesting that it would be more prudent to retire to his room, and call

in the doctor.

But the Count de Commarin was exacting on the score of filial duty, and

would overlook the worst of youthful indiscretions sooner than what he

termed a want of reverence. He had announced his intended arrival

by telegraph, twenty-four hours in advance; therefore the house was

expected to be in perfect readiness to receive him, and the absence of

Albert at the railway station would have been resented as a flagrant

omission of duty.

The viscount had been but five minutes in the waiting-room, when the

bell announced the arrival of the train. Soon the doors leading on

to the platform were opened, and the travelers crowded in. The throng

beginning to thin a little, the count appeared, followed by a servant,

who carried a travelling pelisse lined with rare and valuable fur.

The Count de Commarin looked a good ten years less than his age. His

beard and hair, yet abundant, were scarcely gray. He was tall and

muscular, held himself upright, and carried his head high. His

appearance was noble, his movements easy. His regular features presented

a study to the physiognomist, all expressing easy, careless good

nature, even to the handsome, smiling mouth; but in his eyes flashed the

fiercest and the most arrogant pride. This contrast revealed the secret

of his character. Imbued quite as deeply with aristocratic prejudice

as the Marchioness d’Arlange, he had progressed with his century or at

least appeared to have done so. As fully as the marchioness, he held in

contempt all who were not noble; but his disdain expressed itself in a

different fashion. The marchioness proclaimed her contempt loudly and

coarsely; the count had kept eyes and ears open and had seen and heard

a good deal. She was stupid, and without a shade of common sense. He was

witty and sensible, and possessed enlarged views of life and politics.

She dreamed of the return of the absurd traditions of a former age;

he hoped for things within the power of events to bring forth. He was

sincerely persuaded that the nobles of France would yet recover slowly

and silently, but surely, all their lost power, with its prestige and

influence.

In a word, the count was the flattered portrait of his class; the

marchioness its caricature. It should be added, that M. de Commarin knew

how to divest himself of his crushing urbanity in the company of his

equals. There he recovered his true character, haughty, self-sufficient,

and intractable, enduring contradiction pretty much as a wild horse the

application of the spur. In his own house, he was a despot.

Perceiving his father, Albert advanced towards him. They shook hands

and embraced with an air as noble as ceremonious, and, in less than

a minute, had exchanged all the news that had transpired during the

count’s absence. Then only did M. de Commarin perceive the alteration in

his son’s face.

“You are unwell, viscount,” said he.

“Oh, no, sir,” answered Albert, laconically.

The count uttered “Ah!” accompanied by a certain movement of the head,

which, with him, expressed perfect incredulity; then, turning to his

servant, he gave him some orders briefly.

“Now,” resumed he, “let us go quickly to the house. I am in haste to

feel at home; and I am hungry, having had nothing to-day, but some

detestable broth, at I know not what way station.”