Anyone might have taken him for a stout, good-natured father.

In the daytime, he thought of nothing; at night, he reposed in heavy sleep free from dreams.

With his face fat and rosy, his belly full, his brain empty, he felt happy.
His frame seemed dead, and Therese barely entered his mind.

Occasionally he thought of her as one thinks of a woman one has to marry later on, in the indefinite future.

He patiently awaited the time for his marriage, forgetful of the bride, and dreaming of the new position he would then enjoy.