Moreover, there was nothing imposing about him; he looked like some old shop-keeping herbalist.

At the same time he had a fine, broad, smooth brow, and his eyes still glittered brightly beneath his tangled hair.
"What, have you injured yourself, Guillaume ?" he continued, as soon as he saw the bandaged hand.
Pierre remained silent, so as to let his brother tell the story as he chose.

Guillaume had realised that he must confess the truth, but in simple fashion, without detailing the circumstances.

"Yes, in an explosion," he answered, "and I really think that I have my wrist broken." At this, Bertheroy, whose glance was fixed upon him, noticed that his moustaches were burnt, and that there was an expression of bewildered stupor, such as follows a catastrophe, in his eyes.

Forthwith the _savant_ became grave and circumspect; and, without seeking to compel confidence by any questions, he simply said: "Indeed! an explosion! Will you let me see the injury?
You know that before letting chemistry ensnare me I studied medicine, and am still somewhat of a surgeon." On hearing these words Pierre could not restrain a heart-cry: "Yes, yes, master! Look at the injury--I was very anxious, and to find you here is unhoped-for good fortune!" The _savant_ glanced at him, and divined that the hidden circumstances of the accident must be serious.