A few moments after Lord Falmouth was announced. He had come on foot, and was dressed with the most perfect simplicity. I shall never forget the singular impression that he made on me. His face was pale, regular, white and expressionless as marble, and was illuminated, so to speak, by two brown eyes, which were placed very near to his nose; his slightly mocking smile also impressed me, and, without attaching any importance to the idea, the thought of a vampire came into my mind, for I could not have imagined a more suitable body had I been making a sketch of that fantastic creation. M. de Cernay presented me to Lord Falmouth, and we exchanged the customary politenesses. We were only waiting now for the Italian renegade, that the count called his assassin, to sit down to the table. At last the _valet de chambre_ announced M. Ismaël; it was the renegade. He was of medium height, brown, nervous, magnificently costumed as an Egyptian, and had a very handsome face, though its expression was sombre. Ismaël could not speak a word of French; his language was composed of vulgar Italian and some scraps of the Frankish tongue. Very soon the _maître d'hôtel_ of M. de Cernay opened the doors of the dining-room. The lunch was served in the English style; the silver was from Mortimer's, the porcelain was old Sèvres, and the glassware from Venice and Bohemia. Ismaël ate like an ogre and never uttered a word; but as there was nothing to drink on the table except tea, coffee, and chocolate, he bravely asked for wine, and drank it freely. M. de Cernay seemed to be very much annoyed at the obstinate silence of his assassin, whom M. du Pluvier kept continually worrying with grotesque phrases, such as "_mamamouchi_," which he probably had borrowed from the reception of M. Jourdain. Not responding to these advances, Ismaël, from time to time, would growl like a chained-up bear, and glance impatiently aside at Du Pluvier, who seemed to irritate him extremely.