It was almost the dinner-hour; and the young man, after arranging his toilet, immediately descended to the drawing-room, where his presence seemed to throw a wet blanket over the assembled circle.  To make up for this, the General gave him the warmest welcome; only—­as he had a short memory or little imagination—­he found nothing better to say than to repeat the expressions of his letter, while squeezing his hand almost to the point of fracture.

“The son of my old friend and companion-in-arms,” he cried; and the words rang out in such a sonorous voice they seemed to impress even himself—­for it was noticeable that after a remark, the General always seemed astonished, as if startled by the words that came out of his mouth—­and that seemed suddenly to expand the compass of his ideas and the depth of his sentiments.

To complete his portrait:  he was of medium size, square, and stout; panting when he ascended stairs, or even walking on level ground; a face massive and broad as a mask, and reminding one of those fabled beings who blew fire from their nostrils; a huge moustache, white and grizzly; small gray eyes, always fixed, like those of a doll, but still terrible.  He marched toward a man slowly, imposingly, with eyes fixed, as if beginning a duel to the death, and demanded of him imperatively—­the time of day!

Camors well knew this innocent weakness of his host, but, notwithstanding, was its dupe for one instant during the evening.

They had left the dining-table, and he was standing carelessly in the alcove of a window, holding a cup of coffee, when the General approached him from the extreme end of the room with a severe yet confidential expression, which seemed to preface an announcement of the greatest importance.

The postscript rose before him.  He felt he was to have an immediate explanation.

The General approached, seized him by the buttonhole, and withdrawing him from the depth of the recess, looked into his eyes as if he wished to penetrate his very soul.  Suddenly he spoke, in his thunderous voice.  He said: 

“What do you take in the morning, young man?”

“Tea, General.”

“Aha!  Then give your orders to Pierre—­just as if you were at home;” and, turning on his heel and joining the ladies, he left Camors to digest his little comedy as he might.

Eight days passed.  Twice the General made his guest the object of his formidable advance.  The first time, having put him out of countenance, he contented himself with exclaiming: 

“Well, young man!” and turned on his heel.

The next time he bore down upon Camors, he said not a word, and retired in silence.