第 十 章 · It was indeed the Count de Commarin, though more like his shadow. His

head, usually carried so high, leant upon his chest; his figure was

bent; his eyes had no longer their accustomed fire; his hands trembled.

The extreme disorder of his dress rendered more striking still the

change which had come over him. In one night, he had grown twenty years

older. This man, yesterday so proud of never having bent to a storm,

was now completely shattered. The pride of his name had constituted his

entire strength; that humbled, he seemed utterly overwhelmed. Everything

in him gave way at once; all his supports failed him at the same time.

His cold, lifeless gaze revealed the dull stupor of his thoughts.

He presented such a picture of utter despair that the investigating

magistrate slightly shuddered at the sight. M. Tabaret looked

frightened, and even the clerk seemed moved.

“Constant,” said M. Daburon quickly, “go with M. Tabaret, and see if

there’s any news at the Prefecture.”

The clerk left the room, followed by the detective, who went away

regretfully. The count had not noticed their presence; he paid no

attention to their departure.