He looked ten years older, with lank, dishevelled hair hanging matted over a moist forehead, the cheeks ashen-white, the full lips bloodless and hanging, flabby and parted, displaying both rows of yellow teeth that shook against each other.

The whole figure looked bowed, as if shrunk within itself.
Chauvelin had paused in his restless walk.

He gazed on his colleague, a frown of puzzlement on his pale, set face.
"Capet!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had taken in every detail of Heron's altered appearance, and seen the look of wild terror that literally distorted his face.
Heron could not speak; his teeth were chattering in his mouth, and his tongue seemed paralysed.

Chauvelin went up to him.

He was several inches shorter than his colleague, but at this moment he seemed to be towering over him like an avenging spirit.