He counted on his cunning—it was extreme; on his hypocrisy—it was profound; on his understanding—it was fertile and pliable; on his audacity—it was infernal—to assure impunity to his crimes, and they were already numerous.
One single passion, or rather appetite, but most disgraceful, ignoble, shameful, but almost ferocious, raised him often to frenzy—lust.
Save this weakness, Jacques Ferrand loved but gold He loved gold for the sake of gold.
Not for the enjoyments it procured; he was stoical.
Notwithstanding his great cunning, this man had committed two or three errors which the most crafty criminals hardly ever escape from.
Forced by circumstances, it is true, he had two accomplices: this great fault, as he said himself, had been repaired in part; neither of his accomplices could betray him without betraying themselves; nor could any advantage be derived from their denouncing the notary and themselves to public vindictiveness. He was therefore on this head quite at rest.
Some words now on the personal appearance of Ferrand, and we will introduce the reader into the notary's study, where he will find out the principal personages. Ferrand had passed his fiftieth year. He did not appear more than forty; he was of medium size, round-shouldered, square-built, strong, thick-set, red-haired, shaggy as a bear. His hair lay smooth on his temples, the top of his head was bald, his eyebrows hardly to be perceived; his bilious-looking skin was covered with large freckles; but when any lively emotion agitated it, this yellow, clayey visage filled with blood, and became a livid red.
His face was as flat as a death's-head, his nose crushed down, his lips so thin, so imperceptible, that his mouth seemed cut in his face; when he smiled in a wicked and sinister manner, the ends of his teeth could be seen, black and decayed. Closely shaved to his temples, this man's countenance had an expression austere, sanctified, impassible, rigid, cold and reflecting; his little black eyes—quick, piercing, restless,—were hidden by large green spectacles.
Jacques Ferrand had excellent sight, but under the shelter of his spectacles he had great advantages, observing without being observed; he knew how much a glance of the eye is often and involuntarily significant. In spite of his imperturbable audacity, he had encountered, two or three times in his life, certain powerful looks, before which he had been forced to quail. Now, in some circumstances, it is fatal to cast down your eye before the man who interrogates, accuses, or judges you. The large spectacles of Ferrand were therefore a kind of covered breastwork, from whence he could attentively examine the maneuvers of the enemy; for many such he had to encounter, because many found themselves more or less his dupes.
He affected in his dress a negligence which reached to uncleanliness, or, rather, it was naturally rusty and mean. His face, shaved but once in two or three days, his dirty bald head, his black nails, old snuff-colored-coats, greasy hats, threadbare cravats, black woolen hose, and coarse shoes, recommended him singularly to his clients, by giving him an air of detachment from the world, and a perfume of practical philosophy, which charmed them. "To what pleasures—what passions— could the notary," said they, "sacrifice the confidence which was shown him? He gained, perhaps, sixty thousand francs a year, and his household was composed of a servant and an old housekeeper; his sole pleasure was to go every Sunday to mass and vespers; he knew no opera comparable to the solemn sounds of the organ, no company which could equal an evening passed at his fireside with the parish priest, after a frugal dinner. Finally, he placed his delight in his probity, his pride in his honor, his happiness in his religion."