He lifted his eyes and looked at the clock and the barometer on his right hand and on his left.

They had gilded sphinxes by way of adornment in the style of the First Empire.

Then he stretched himself out in a huge armchair with ears, the green velvet of which had been so worn by four generations of comedians that it looked yellow in places, and there he stayed, with moveless limbs and vacant eyes, in that weary and resigned attitude peculiar to actors who are used to long waits before their turn for going on the stage.
Old Bosc, too, had just made his appearance.

He came in dragging one foot behind the other and coughing.

He was wrapped in an old box coat, part of which had slipped from his shoulder in such a way as to uncover the gold-laced cloak of King Dagobert.