“No,” said Villefort; “only return again at eleven o’clock; at twelve the⁠—the⁠—oh, Heavens, my poor, poor child!” and the procureur again becoming a man, lifted up his eyes and groaned.

“Shall you be present in the reception-room?”

“No; I have a cousin who has undertaken this sad office. I shall work, doctor⁠—when I work I forget everything.”

And, indeed, no sooner had the doctor left the room, than he was again absorbed in work. On the doorsteps d’Avrigny met the cousin whom Villefort had mentioned, a personage as insignificant in our story as in the world he occupied⁠—one of those beings designed from their birth to make themselves useful to others. He was punctual, dressed in black, with crape around his hat, and presented himself at his cousin’s with a face made up for the occasion, and which he could alter as might be required.