De Boville had indeed met the funeral procession which was taking Valentine to her last home on earth. The weather was dull and stormy, a cold wind sh...ok the few remaining yellow leaves from the boughs of the trees, and scattered them among the crowd which filled the boulevards. M. de Villefort, a true Parisian, considered the cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal remains of a Parisian family; there alone the corpses belonging to him would be surrounded by worthy. I ducked and weaved my way through the undulating crowd and stopped in front of his table. Pleasantly relieved that he was handsome, his eyes went up and down me like a leopard eyeing its prey. I flashed him a smile and slipped into the booth next to him. He had longish dark hair he kept in a shag, a neatly groomed goatee and sexy full lips. I couldn’t place his nationality, but he was definitely part black. I couldn’t tell what color he was in the alternating blue, red and green lights, but he. More

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