The skull, waxed as if with siccatif, seemed to have grown up out of the hair, which was hard and like filaments of dried coconut and hung down over his neck.
The nose was bony, and the nostrils opened like two hatchways, over a toothless mouth which was hidden by a moustache grizzled like the goatee springing from the short chin.

At first glance one would have taken him for an art-worker, a wood engraver or a glider of saints' images, but on looking at him more closely, observing the eyes, round and grey, set close to the nose, almost crossed, and studying his solemn voice and obsequious manners, one asked oneself from what quite special kind of sacristy the man had issued.
He took off his things and appeared in a black frock coat of square, boxlike cut.

A fine gold chain, passed about his neck, lost itself in the bulging pocket of an old vest.

Durtal gasped when Gevingey, as soon as he had seated himself, complacently put his hands on exhibition, resting them on his knees.

Enormous, freckled with blotches of orange, and terminating in milk-white nails cut to the quick, the fingers were covered with huge rings, the sets of which formed a phalanx.
Seeing Durtal's gaze fixed on his fingers, he smiled.