ndeed the lord of the manor who now
entered, was a young man of five or six and twenty; though at first
sight he seemed much older, because of the deep gravity, even sadness,
of his demeanour; the feeling of utter powerlessness which poverty
brings having effectually chased away all the natural piety and
light-heartedness of youth. Dark circles surrounded his sunken eyes, his
cheeks were hollow, his mustache drooped in a sorrowful curve over his
sad mouth. His long black hair was negligently pushed back from his
pale face, and showed a want of care remarkable in a young man who was
strikingly handsome, despite his doleful desponding expression. The
constant pressure of a crushing grief had drawn sorrowful lines in a
countenance that a little animation would have rendered charming. All
the elasticity and hopefulness natural to his age seemed to have been
lost in his useless struggles against an unhappy fate. Though his frame
was lithe, vigorous, and admirably proportioned, all his movements were
slow and apathetic, like those of an old man. His gestures were entirely
devoid of animation, his whole expression inert, and it was evidently
a matter of perfect indifference to him where he might chance to find
himself at home, in his dismal chateau, or abroad in the desolate
Landes.

He had on an old gray felt hat, much too large for him, with a dingy,
shabby feather, that drooped as if it felt heartily ashamed of itself,
and the miserable condition to which it was reduced. A broad collar
of guipure lace, ragged in many places, was turned down over a
just-au-corps, which had been cut for a taller and much stouter man than
the slender, young baron. The sleeves of his doublet were so long that
they fell over his hands, which were small and shapely, and there were
large iron spurs on the clumsy, old-fashioned riding-boots he wore.
These shabby, antiquated clothes had belonged to his father; they were
made according to the fashion that prevailed during the preceding
reign; and the poor young nobleman, whose appearance in them was both
ridiculous and touching, might have been taken for one of his own
ancestors. Although he tenderly cherished his father's memory, and tears
often came into his eyes as he put on these garments that had seemed
actually a part of him, yet it was not from choice that young de
Sigognac availed himself of the paternal wardrobe. Unfortunately he had
no other clothes, save those of his boyhood, long ago outg