He lay propped on pillows in a little cot no greater than a camp-bed, not visibly breathing.

He was about eighty years of age, and looked it; not that his face was much lined, but all the blood and colour seemed to have faded from his body, and even his eyes, which last he kept usually closed as though the light distressed him.

There was an unspeakable degree of slyness in his expression, which kept me ill at ease; he seemed to lie there with his arms folded, like a spider waiting for prey.

His speech was very deliberate and courteous, but scarce louder than a sigh.
'I bid you welcome, _Monsieur le Vicomte Anne_,' said he, looking at me hard with his pale eyes, but not moving on his pillows.

'I have sent for you, and I thank you for the obliging expedition you have shown.