His face, surrounded by a bristly dark brown beard, and his eyes overhung by bushy eyebrows, gave him, at the first glance, a harsh appearance.

But his mouth promptly banished this impression.

His thick and sensual lips betrayed voluptuous tastes.

A disciple of Lavater or Gall would have found the bump of amativeness largely developed.
Marechal stepped aside to allow him to pass.
"Good-morning, mistress," said he familiarly, approaching Madame Desvarennes.
The mistress raised her head quickly, and said: "Ah! it's you, Cayrol! That's capital! I was just going to send for you." Jean Cayrol, a native of Cantal, had been brought up amid the wild mountains of Auvergne.

His father was a small farmer in the neighborhood of Saint-Flour, scraping a miserable pittance from the ground for the maintenance of his family.