He wasn't sober once in six months; then he was laid up and had to go into the Sainte-Anne hospital; a pleasure trip for him.

The Lorilleuxs said that the Duke of Bowel-Twister had gone to visit his estates.

At the end of a few weeks he left the asylum, repaired and set together again, and then he began to pull himself to bits once more, till he was down on his back and needed another mending.
In three years he went seven times to Sainte-Anne in this fashion.

The neighborhood said that his cell was kept ready for him.

But the worst of the matter was that this obstinate tippler demolished himself more and more each time so that from relapse to relapse one could foresee the final tumble, the last cracking of this shaky cask, all the hoops of which were breaking away, one after the other.
At the same time, he forgot to improve in appearance; a perfect ghost to look at! The poison was having terrible effects.