And his hands are those of a prelate.

"The second time I called on him he received me in his bed-room,
adjoining the library, and smiled at my astonishment when I saw there
a wretched chest of drawers, a shabby carpet, a camp-bed, and cotton
window-curtains. He came out of his private room, to which no one is
admitted, as Jerome informed me; the man did not go in, but merely
knocked at the door.

"The third time he was breakfasting in his library on the most frugal
fare; but on this occasion, as he had spent the night studying our
documents, as I had my attorney with me, and as that worthy Monsieur
Girardet is long-winded, I had leisure to study the stranger. He
certainly is no ordinary man. There is more than one secret behind
that face, at once so terrible and so gentle, patient and yet
impatient, broad and yet hollow. I saw, too, that he stooped a little,
like all men who have some heavy burden to bear."

"Why did so eloquent a man leave Paris? For what purpose did he come
to Besancon?" asked pretty Madame de Chavoncourt. "Could no one tell
him how little chance a stranger has of succeeding here? The good
folks of Besancon will make use of him, but they will not allow him to
make use of them. Why, having come, did he make so little effort that
it needed a freak of the President's to bring him forward?"

"After carefully studying that fine head," said the Abbe, looking
keenly at the lady who had interrupted him, in such a way as to
suggest that there was something he would not tell, "and especially
after hearing him this morning reply to one of the bigwigs of the
Paris Bar, I believe that this man, who may be five-and-thirty, will