She lacked only her dog.
"How is Toby ?" asked Madame Martin.

"Monsieur Vence, do you know Toby?
He has long silky hair and a lovely little black nose." Madame Marmet was relishing the praise of Toby, when an old man, pink and blond, with curly hair, short-sighted, almost blind under his golden spectacles, rather short, striking against the furniture, bowing to empty armchairs, blundering into the mirrors, pushed his crooked nose before Madame Marmet, who looked at him indignantly.
It was M.Schmoll, member of the Academie des Inscriptions.

He smiled and turned a madrigal for the Countess Martin with that hereditary harsh, coarse voice with which the Jews, his fathers, pressed their creditors, the peasants of Alsace, of Poland, and of the Crimea.

He dragged his phrases heavily.

This great philologist knew all languages except French.