As a rule, too, he had laughing eyes, and something giddy, flighty, bird-like in his demeanour; but that morning he seemed nervous, anxious even, and smiled in a scared way.
"Ah! it's you, Duthil," said the Baron, rising.

"Have you read this ?" And he showed the new comer the "Voix du Peuple," which he was folding up to replace it in his pocket.
"Why yes, I've read it.

It's amazing.

How can Sagnier have got hold of the list of names?
Has there been some traitor ?" The Baron looked at his companion quietly, amused by his secret anguish.
Duthil, the son of a notary of Angouleme, almost poor and very honest, had been sent to Paris as deputy for that town whilst yet very young, thanks to the high reputation of his father; and he there led a life of pleasure and idleness, even as he had formerly done when a student.
However, his pleasant bachelor's quarters in the Rue de Suresnes, and his success as a handsome man in the whirl of women among whom he lived, cost him no little money; and gaily enough, devoid as he was of any moral sense, he had already glided into all sorts of compromising and lowering actions, like a light-headed, superior man, a charming, thoughtless fellow, who attached no importance whatever to such trifles.
"Bah!" said the Baron at last.

"Has Sagnier even got a list?
I doubt it, for there was none; Hunter wasn't so foolish as to draw one up.