The newspapers,
encyclopaedias, and books were an attraction to a retired captain of
the Royal-Swedish regiment, named Monsieur de Jordy, a Voltairean
nobleman and an old bachelor, who lived on sixteen hundred francs of
pension and annuity combined. Having read the gazettes for several
days, by favor of the abbe, Monsieur de Jordy thought it proper to
call and thank the doctor in person. At this first visit the old
captain, formerly a professor at the Military Academy, won the
doctor's heart, who returned the call with alacrity. Monsieur de
Jordy, a spare little man much troubled by his blood, though his face
was very pale, attracted attention by the resemblance of his handsome
brow to that of Charles XII.; above it he kept his hair cropped short,
like that of the soldier-king. His blue eyes seemed to say that "Love
had passed that way," so mournful were they; revealing memories about
which he kept such utter silence that his old friends never detected
even an allusion to his past life, nor a single exclamation drawn
forth by similarity of circumstances. He hid the painful mystery of
his past beneath a philosophic gayety, but when he thought himself
alone his motions, stiffened by a slowness which was more a matter of
choice than the result of old age, betrayed the constant presence of
distressful thoughts.
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