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." M.de Commarin had returned to Paris in a very bad temper, his journey to Austria had not brought the results he had hoped for.

To crown his dissatisfaction, he had rested, on his homeward way, at the chateau of an old friend, with whom he had had so violent a discussion that they had parted without shaking hands.