Gosselin, on his return from Rome, painted father, he was not more than thirty."
"True, sister. But when I was a boy the portrait appeared to me that of a man well on in years, and that impression clung to me. Now it has suddenly vanished. The colours of Gosselin's picture have lost their brightness; the flesh has assumed an amber tint under the varnish; the lines have grown vague, merging into shadow of an olive hue. Our father's face seems to retreat further and further into a far-distant background. But that smooth forehead, those large bright eyes, the dear pure line of the delicate cheeks, the black hair thick and shining, belong, I see it now for the first time, to a man in the flower of his youth."
"Certainly," said Zoé.
"His dress and the style of his hair are those of the old days when he was young. He wears his hair ruffled. His bottle-green coat has a high collar, he wears a nankin waistcoat and his broad black silk stock tie is wound three times round his neck."
"Ten years ago old men were still to be seen wearing ties like that," said Zoé.
"Possibly," said Monsieur Bergeret. "But it is certain that Monsieur Malorey never wore any others."
"You mean the Dean of the Faculté des Lettres
