receive them from himself. For me, the strange destiny of the man was
a philosophical problem to be solved. I therefore noticed his features,
his manners, and his home with peculiar interest.

Bernard Mauprat must be fully eighty-four, though his robust health, his
upright figure, his firm step, and the absence of any infirmity might
indicate some fifteen or twenty years less. His face would have appeared
to me extremely handsome, had not a certain harshness of expression
brought before my eyes, in spite of myself, the shades of his fathers.
I very much fear that, externally at all events, he must resemble them.
This he alone could have told us; for neither my friend nor myself had
known any other Mauprat. Naturally, however, we were very careful not to
inquire.

It struck us that his servants waited on him with a promptitude and
punctuality quite marvellous in Berrichon domestics. Nevertheless, at
the least semblance of delay he raised his voice, knitted his eyebrows
(which still showed very black under his white hair), and muttered a few
expressions of impatience which lent wings even to the slowest. At first
I was somewhat shocked at this habit; it appeared to savour rather too
strongly of the Mauprats. But the kindly and almost paternal manner in
which he spoke to them a moment later, and their zeal, which seemed so
distinct from fear, soon reconciled me to him. Towards us, moreover, he
showed an exquisite politeness, and expressed himself in the choicest
terms. Unfortunately, at the end of dinner, a door which had been left
open and through which a cold air found its way to his venerable skull,
drew from him such a frightful oath that my friend and I exchanged a
look of surprise. He noticed it.

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," he said. "I am afraid you find me an odd