As has already been said, the old man was very infirm, and had lost the use of his limbs.
When the weather was cold or wet, he sat with his daughter, Agatha, near his bright wood fire, and watched her needle, or listened to her songs; but, if the sun appeared at all, he was dragged out in his garden chair among the birds and the painted figures, and was happy in spite of his infirmities.
He was most affectionate to his children, and indulgent to a fault.

He was kind to every one, and, unless the birds were disturbed, the cherry-trees injured, or the figures upset, he was never angry even with a servant.

Everybody loved and venerated the old Marquis, and even in his foibles, he was thoroughly respected.

He had a vast collection of stuffed birds of every description, and the peasants round him were so anxious to gratify him by adding to his stock, that there began to be a doubt whether room in the chateau could be found for the presents which were continually brought.

The upper story of the house had never been required by the family, and the rooms had not even been roofed or plastered.