Under his grizzled wig he showed a mild and shrewd visage. His brown coat was of good cloth, as were his breeches; and his gray waistcoat was worked on the flaps. His gray cotton stockings imprisoned well-made and muscular legs; his buckled shoes, though dusty in patches, had been washed at the top by the morning dews.
Near him, on the trunk, was a green box, open and stuffed with freshly gathered plants. Between his legs he held a cane with a crutch handle, ending in a sort of pick.
He was eating a piece of bread, and tossing crumbs to the wild birds, which flew down on the pieces and took them off to their nooks with joyful peeps.
Suddenly he heard hurried steps, and seeing on looking up, a young man with disquieting aspect, he rose. He buttoned up his coat and closed his overcoat above it.
His air was so calming that the intruder on his peace came to a stop and doffed his hat.
It was Gilbert. Gilbert, much the worse for his roaming the woods through the night since he had fled from Luciennes in order not to lose his freedom.
Remarking this sudden timidity, the old man appeared to be put at ease by it.
"Do you want to speak to me, my friend?" he asked, smiling, and laying the piece of bread on the tree.
"Yes, for I see that you are throwing away bread on the birds as though it were not written that the Lord provides for the sparrows."