His dark hair was neatly brushed, and his face, which had a
pinched appearance, was composed in that
"if-it-is-entirely-agreeable-to-you-Sir" expression, typical of his
class.
The unhealthy, yellow skin of the new arrival, which harmonized so ill
with the clear whites of his little furtive eyes, interested M. Max
extraordinarily. M. Max was blinking like a week-old kitten, and one
could have sworn that he was but hazily conscious of his surroundings;
whereas in reality he was memorizing the cranial peculiarities of the
new arrival, the shape of his nose, the disposition of his ears; the
exact hue of his eyes; the presence of a discolored tooth in his lower
jaw, which a fish-like, nervous trick of opening and closing the mouth
periodically revealed.
"Good morning, sir!" said the valet, gently rubbing his palms together
and bending over the bed.
M. Max inhaled deeply, stared in glassy fashion, but in no way indicated
that he had heard the words.
The valet shook him gently by the shoulder.
"Good morning, sir. Shall I prepare your bath?"
"She is a serpent!" muttered M. Max, tossing one arm weakly above his
head... "all yellow.... But roses are growing in the mud ... of the
river!"
"If you will take your bath, sir," insisted the man in black, "I shall
be ready to shave you when you return.
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