"It is unnecessary."

And, stepping forward, he entered the office adjoining that of Madame
Desvarennes.

Seated at a large table of black wood, covered with bundles of papers and
notes, a young man was working. He was thirty years of age, but appeared
much older. His prematurely bald forehead, and wrinkled brow, betokened a
life of severe struggles and privations, or a life of excesses and
pleasures. Still those clear and pure eyes were not those of a libertine,
and the straight nose solidly joined to the face was that of a searcher.
Whatever the cause, the man was old before his time.

On hearing the door of his office open, he raised his eyes, put down his
pen, and was making a movement toward his visitor, when the latter
interrupted him quickly with these words:

"Don't stir, Marechal, or I shall be off! I only came in until Aunt
Desvarennes is at liberty; but if I disturb you I will go and take a
turn, smoke a cigar, and come back in three quarters of an hour."

"You do not disturb me, Monsieur Savinien; at least not often enough, for
be it said, without reproaching you, it is more than three months since
we have seen anything of you. There, the post is finished. I was writing
the last addresses."

And taking a heavy bundle of papers off the desk, Marechal showed them to
Savinien.

"Gracious! It seems that business is going on well here."