And was he not indeed a symbol of that old-time aristocracy, still so lofty and proud in appearance, though at bottom it is but dust?
"Well," continued the General, "he's thirty-six now; he's constantly hanging on your hands, and he must make an end of it all." However, the Countess silenced him and turned to the Marquis: "Let us put our confidence in God, my friend," said she.

"He cannot but come to my help, for I have never willingly offended Him." "Never!" replied the Marquis, who in that one word set an expression of all his grief, all his affection and worship for that woman whom he had adored for so many years.
But another faithful friend came in and the conversation changed.

M.de Larombiere, Vice-President of the Appeal Court, was an old man of seventy-five, thin, bald and clean shaven but for a pair of little white whiskers.

And his grey eyes, compressed mouth and square and obstinate chin lent an expression of great austerity to his long face.

The grief of his life was that, being afflicted with a somewhat childish lisp, he had never been able to make his full merits known when a public prosecutor, for he esteemed himself to be a great orator.