The whole history of Flanders
and its linen-trade was epitomized in this old man, often called, by
way of euphony, Mulquinier. He was not without originality, either of
character or appearance. His face was triangular in shape, broad and
long, and seamed by small-pox which had left innumerable white and
shining patches that gave him a fantastic appearance. He was tall and
thin; his whole demeanor solemn and mysterious; and his small eyes,
yellow as the wig which was smoothly plastered on his head, cast none
but oblique glances.
The old valet's outward man was in keeping with the feeling of
curiosity which he everywhere inspired. His position as assistant to
his master, the depositary of a secret jealously guarded and about
which he maintained a rigid silence, invested him with a species of
charm. The denizens of the rue de Paris watched him pass with an
interest mingled with awe; to all their questions he returned
sibylline answers big with mysterious treasures. Proud of being
necessary to his master, he assumed an annoying authority over his
companions, employing it to further his own interests and compel a
submission which made him virtually the ruler of the house. Contrary
to the custom of Flemish servants, who are deeply attached to the
families whom they serve, Mulquinier cared only for Balthazar. If any
trouble befell Madame Claes, or any joyful event happened to the
family, he ate his bread and butter and drank his beer as
phlegmatically as ever.
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