es to express the want of personal
neatness. His clothes always seem to have been twisted, frayed, and
crumpled intentionally, in order to harmonize with his physiognomy. He
keeps one of his hands habitually in the bosom of his waistcoat in the
pose which Girodet's portrait of Monsieur de Chateaubriand has rendered
famous; but less to imitate that great man (for he does not wish to
resemble any one) than to rumple the over-smooth front of his shirt. His
cravat is no sooner put on than it is twisted by the convulsive motions
of his head, which are quick and abrupt, like those of a thoroughbred
horse impatient of harness, and constantly tossing up its head to rid
itself of bit and bridle. His long and pointed beard is neither combed,
nor perfumed, nor brushed, nor trimmed, like those of the elegant young
men of society; he lets it alone, to grow as it will. His hair, getting
between the collar of his coat and his cravat, lies luxuriantly on his
shoulders, and greases whatever spot it touches. His wiry, bony hands
ignore a nailbrush and the luxury of lemon. Some of his cofeuilletonists
declare that purifying waters seldom touch their calcined skin.

In short, the terrible Raoul is grotesque. His movements are jerky, as
if produced by imperfect machinery; his gait rejects all idea of order,
and proceeds by spasmodic zig-zags and sudden stoppages, which knock him
violently against peaceable citizens on the streets and boulevards
of Paris. His conversation, full of caustic humor, of bitter satire,
follows the gait of his body; suddenly it abandons its tone of vengeance
and turns sweet, poetic, consoling, gentle, without apparent reason; he
falls into inexplicable silences, or turns somersets of wit, which
at times are somewhat wearying. In society, he is boldly awkward, and
exhibits a contempt for conventions and a critical air about things
respected which makes him unpleasant to narrow minds, and also to those
who strive to preserve the doctrines of old-fashioned, gentlemanly
politeness; but for all that there is a sort of lawless originality
about him which women do not dislike. Besides, to them, he is often most
amiably courteous; he seems to take pleasure in making them forget his
personal singularities, and thus obtains a victory over antipathies
which flatters either his vanity, his self-love, or his pride.

"Why do you present yourself like that?" said the Marquise de Vandenesse
one day.

"Pearls live in oyster-shell