"Why, sir, a man of about fifty."
"Short or tall?"
"About your own height, sir."
"Dark or fair?"
"Dark, — very dark: with black eyes, black hair, black eyebrows."
"And how dressed?" asked Villefort, quickly.
"In a blue frock-coat, buttoned up close, decorated with the Legion of Honor."
"It is he!" said Villefort, turning pale.
"Eh, pardieu!" said the individual, whose description we have twice given, entering the door, "what a great deal of ceremony! Is it the custom in Marseilles for sons to keep their fathers waiting in their anterooms."
"Father!" cried Villefort. "Then I was not deceived; I felt sure it must be you."
"Well, then, if you felt so sure," replied the new-comer, putting his cane in a corner and his hat on a chair, "allow me to say, my dear Gérard, that it was not very filial of you to keep me waiting at the door."
"Leave us, Germain," said Villefort.
The servant quitted the apartment with evident signs of astonishment.
