of brass, his breath was that of a cavern,
his torso that of a colossus, his head that of a bird. One thought one
beheld the Farnese Hercules clad in duck trousers and a cotton velvet
waistcoat. Gueulemer, built after this sculptural fashion, might have
subdued monsters; he had found it more expeditious to be one. A low
brow, large temples, less than forty years of age, but with crow's-feet,
harsh, short hair, cheeks like a brush, a beard like that of a wild
boar; the reader can see the man before him. His muscles called for
work, his stupidity would have none of it. He was a great, idle force.
He was an assassin through coolness. He was thought to be a creole. He
had, probably, somewhat to do with Marshal Brune, having been a porter
at Avignon in 1815. After this stage, he had turned ruffian.

The diaphaneity of Babet contrasted with the grossness of Gueulemer.
Babet was thin and learned. He was transparent but impenetrable.
Daylight was visible through his bones, but nothing through his eyes. He
declared that he was a chemist. He had been a jack of all trades. He had
played in vaudeville at Saint-Mihiel. He was a man of purpose, a fine
talker, who underlined his smiles and accentuated his gestures. His
occupation consisted in selling, in the open air, plaster busts and
portraits of "the head of the State." In addition to this, he extracted
teeth. He had exhibited phenomena at fairs, and he had owned a booth
with a trumpet and this poster: "Babet, Dental Artist, Member of the
Academies, makes physical experiments on metals and metalloids, extracts
teeth, undertakes stumps abandoned by his brother practitioners. Price:
one tooth, one franc, fifty centimes; two teeth, two francs; three
teeth, two francs, fifty. Take advantage of this opportunity." This Take
advantage of this opportunity meant: Have as many teeth extracted as
possible. He had been married and had had children. He did not know what
had become of his wife and children. He had lost them as one loses his
handkerchief. Babet read the papers, a striking exception in the world
to which he belonged. One day, at the period when he had his family with
him in his booth on wheels, he had read in the Messager, that a woman
had just given birth to a child, who was doing well, and had a calf's
muzzle, and he exclaimed: "There's a fortune! my wife has not the wit to
present me with a child like that!"

Later on he had abandoned everything, in order to "undertake Paris."