It was indeed the Count de Commarin, though more like his shadow.

His head, usually carried so high, leant upon his chest; his figure was bent; his eyes had no longer their accustomed fire; his hands trembled.
The extreme disorder of his dress rendered more striking still the change which had come over him.

In one night, he had grown twenty years older.

This man, yesterday so proud of never having bent to a storm, was now completely shattered.

The pride of his name had constituted his entire strength; that humbled, he seemed utterly overwhelmed.