The carriage at this moment stopped in the court-yard of the de Commarin mansion, after having described that perfect half-circle, the glory of coachmen who preserve the old tradition.

The count alighted first, and leaning upon his son’s arm, ascended the steps of the grand entrance.  In the immense vestibule, nearly all the servants, dressed in rich liveries, stood in a line.  The count gave them a glance, in passing, as an officer might his soldiers on parade, and proceeded to his apartment on the first floor, above the reception rooms.

Never was there a better regulated household than that of the Count de Commarin.  He possessed in a high degree the art, more rare than is generally supposed, of commanding an army of servants.  The number of his domestics caused him neither inconvenience nor embarrassment.  They were necessary to him.  So perfect was the organisation of this household, that its functions were performed like those of a machine,—­without noise, variation, or effort.

Thus when the count returned from his journey, the sleeping hotel was awakened as if by the spell of an enchanter.  Each servant was at his post; and the occupations, interrupted during the past six weeks, resumed without confusion.  As the count was known to have passed the day on the road, the dinner was served in advance of the usual hour.  All the establishment, even to the lowest scullion, represented the spirit of the first article of the rules of the house, “Servants are not to execute orders, but anticipate them.”

M. de Commarin had hardly removed the traces of his journey, and changed his dress, when his butler announced that the dinner was served.

He went down at once; and father and son met upon the threshold of the dining-room.  This was a large apartment, with a very high ceiling, as were all the rooms of the ground floor, and was most magnificently furnished.  The count was not only a great eater, but was vain of his enormous appetite.  He was fond of recalling the names of great men, noted for their capacity of stomach.  Charles V. devoured mountains of viands.  Louis XIV. swallowed at each repast as much as six ordinary men would eat at a meal.  He pretended that one can almost judge of men’s qualities by their digestive capacities; he compared them to lamps, whose power of giving light is in proportion to the oil they consume.

During the first half hour, the count and his son both remained silent.  M. de Commarin ate conscientiously, not perceiving or not caring to notice that Albert ate nothing, but merely sat at the table as if to countenance him.  The old nobleman’s ill-humour and volubility returned with the dessert, apparently increased by a Burgundy of which he was particularly fond, and of which he drank freely.

He was partial, moreover, to an after dinner argument, professing a theory that moderate discussion is a perfect digestive.  A letter which had been delivered to him on his arrival, and which he had found time to glance over, gave him at once a subject and a point of departure.