The mayor, though dressed as a bourgeois, always looked like a servant.

Each gazed with a bewildered eye at the gendarmes, in whose clutches Gothard was still sobbing, his hands purple and swollen from the tightness of the cord that bound them.

Catherine maintained her attitude of artless simplicity, which was quite impenetrable.

The corporal, who, according to Corentin, had committed a great blunder in arresting these smaller fry, did not know whether to stay where he was or to depart.

He stood pensively in the middle of the salon, his hand on the hilt of his sabre, his eye on the two Parisians.