swallowed at each repast as much as six ordinary men would eat at a meal.

He pretended that one can almost judge of men's qualities by their digestive capacities; he compared them to lamps, whose power of giving light is in proportion to the oil they consume.
During the first half hour, the count and his son both remained silent.
M.de Commarin ate conscientiously, not perceiving or not caring to notice that Albert ate nothing, but merely sat at the table as if to countenance him.

The old nobleman's ill-humour and volubility returned with the dessert, apparently increased by a Burgundy of which he was particularly fond, and of which he drank freely.
He was partial, moreover, to an after dinner argument, professing a theory that moderate discussion is a perfect digestive.

A letter which had been delivered to him on his arrival, and which he had found time to glance over, gave him at once a subject and a point of departure.
"I arrived home but an hour ago;" said he, "and I have already received a homily from Broisfresnay." "He writes a great deal," observed Albert.
"Too much; he consumes himself in ink.

He mentions a lot more of his ridiculous projects and vain hopes, and he mentions a dozen names of men of his own stamp who are his associates.