The Comte of Salsifi

He used to arrive in the tavern ... sometimes, bowed somehow, blewish somehow... as if he came from the depths of the earth ... exhausted, broken, hopeless ... he used to stand by the bar ... his shoulder up, he used to let his scarf down on the wet wood ... from his tired and gloomy eyes, one could still perceive a faint sparkle that he used to drown in his dayly spirit ...