"It is my reception-room and my cabinet combined," he said, smiling.

This room, which was much larger than the first, was as scantily
furnished; but it contained several piles of small books and an infinite
number of tiny packages.

Two men were engaged in arranging and sorting these articles.

One was Chanlouineau.

M. d'Escorval did not remember that he had ever seen the other, who was
a young man.

"This is my son, Jean, Monsieur," said Lacheneur. "He has changed since
you last saw him ten years ago."

It was true. It had been, at least, ten years since the baron had seen
Lacheneur's son.

How time flies! He had left him a boy; he found him a man.

Jean was just twenty; but his haggard features and his precocious beard
made him appear much older.

He was tall and well formed, and his face indicated more than average
intelligence.

Still he did not impress one favorably. His restless eyes were always
invading yours; and his smile betrayed an unusual degree of shrewdness,