And when they discovered him, hiding between the bed and the wall, his teeth were chattering, and he related that some men had come to murder him.

The two women were obliged to put him to bed again and quiet him like a child.
Coupeau knew only one remedy, to toss down a pint of spirits; a whack in his stomach, which set him on his feet again.

This was how he doctored his gripes of a morning.

His memory had left him long ago, his brain was empty; and he no sooner found himself on his feet than he poked fun at illness.

He had never been ill.