He had the usual characteristics of the Basque race; a long face, hooked nose, and dark, gipsy-like complexion.

He wore a sort of livery, which was so old and threadbare that it would be impossible to make out its original colour, and his stiff, soldier-like carriage and movements proclaimed that he had at some time in his life served in a military capacity.

"The young master is late to-night," he muttered to himself, as the daylight faded.
"What possible pleasure can he find in these long, solitary rambles over the dunes?
It is true though that it is so dreary here, in this lonely, dismal house, that any other place is preferable." At this moment a joyous barking was heard without, the old pony in the stable stamped and whinnied, and the cat jumped down from his place beside Pierre and trotted off towards the door with great alacrity.

In an instant the latch was lifted, and the old servant rose, taking off his woollen cap respectfully, as his master came into the kitchen.

He was preceded by the poor old dog, trying to jump up on him, but falling back every time without being able to reach his face, and Beelzebub seemed to welcome them both--showing no evidence of the antipathy usually existing between the feline and canine races; on the contrary, receiving Miraut with marks of affection which were fully reciprocated.
The Baron de Sigognac, for it was indeed the lord of the manor who now entered, was a young man of five or six and twenty; though at first sight he seemed much older, because of the deep gravity, even sadness, of his demeanour; the feeling of utter powerlessness which poverty brings having effectually chased away all the natural piety and light-heartedness of youth.