Denzil was French of the French, with habit of mind and character wholly his own.
Denzil's head was squat upon his shoulders, and his long, handsome body was also squat, because his legs were as short, proportionately, as his mind was long.

His face was covered by a well-cared-for beard of dark brown, streaked with grey; his features were rugged and fine; and his eyes were like two coals burning under a gnarled headland; for his forehead, ample and full, had lines which were not lines of age, but of concentration.

In his motions he was quiet and free, yet always there was a kind of stealthiness in his movements, which made him seem less frank than he really was.
For a time, with salient sympathy in his eyes, he watched the two children playing.

The whisking of their forms among the trees and over the rocks was fine, gracious, and full of life-life without alarm.

At length he saw the girl falter slightly, then make a swift deceptive movement to avoid the boy who pursued her.