The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CHATEAU 3 bordering upon sixty at the time when we purpose to introduce him to our reader. Somewhat above the middle height, he was thin and though still in possession of full activity of limb, yet his pace was invariably slow, as if measured according to the solemn gloom of his thoughts. His countenance was pale with the evidences of some deeply seated sorrow indelibly stamped upon it. His gaze was cold and searching; no one at the first glance, or at the first meeting with Monsieur Vol- ney, would become prepossessed in his favour. His manners were as cold as his looks; there was something in them which repelled in advance toward friendship, and seemed to render an intimacy impossible. He spoke but little, —never unnecessarily, — and as much as possible in mere mono- syllables. Yet despite that glacial gaze, that freezing man- ner, that undisguised dislike for conversation, there was an unmistakable air of good breeding about Monsieur Volney, — that gloss of the courtly drawing-room which when once it invests the individual can seldom be shaken off, any more than a talented person can by ordinary circumstances be rendered stupid or a well-educated one can become ignorant. Monsieur Volney was in the habit of taking long solitary walks, and yet it could scarcely be for the sake of the beautiful surrounding scenery, inasmuch as the sense of that or of any other enjoyment appeared to be dead within him. When he was encountered by any one of the rural inhabitants in those walks, he was invariably proceeding at the slow, measured pace we have already alluded to, his eyes were bent down, and his whole demeanour indicated a deep preoccupation of the thoughts. If out of respect the rustics saluted him as they passed, he would just acknowledge the compliment with a cold courtesy, in which, however, nothing of pride seemed blended, but he never stopped to exchange a syllable of conversation. When indoors he was principally occupied in a little room which he had fitted up as a study or library, and the shelves of which contained a few books, but these of a sterling description. They consisted chiefly of scientific works, voyages, and travels, with a small sprinkling of the best French poets. There, in that study, Monsieur Volney would pass hours together, though whether he were always reading, or whether he were much of that time communing with his own painful thoughts, was scarcely known even to his own daughter. — EOMINGIOOKS (CO)