Amiet have never been known by their real names. They owe that to
the accommodating spirit prevailing among the vendors of passports
of those days. Let the reader picture to himself two dare-devils
between twenty and thirty years of age, allied by some common
responsibility, the sequence, perhaps of some misdeed, or, by
a more delicate and generous interest, the fear of compromising
their family name. Then you will know of Guyon and Amiet all that
I can recall. The latter had a sinister countenance, to which,
perhaps, he owes the bad reputation with which all his biographers
have credited him. Hyvert was the son of a rich merchant of Lyons,
who had offered the sub-officer charged with his deportation
sixty thousand francs to permit his escape. He was at once the
Achilles and the Paris of the band. He was of medium height but
well formed, lithe, and of graceful and pleasing address. His
eyes were never without animation nor his lips without a smile.
His was one of those countenances which are never forgotten, and
which present an inexpressible blending of sweetness and strength,
tenderness and energy. When he yielded to the eloquent petulance
of his inspirations he soared to enthusiasm. His conversation
revealed the rudiments of an excellent early education and much
natural intelligence. That which was so terrifying in him was his
tone of heedless gayety, which contrasted so horribly with his
position. For the rest, he was unanimously conceded to be kind,
generous, humane, lenient toward the weak, while with the strong
he loved to display a vigor truly athletic which his somewhat
effeminate features were far from indicating. He boasted that he
had never been without money, and had no enemies. That was his
sole reply to the charges of theft and assassination. He was
twenty-two years old.