To-morrow, all powdered, curled, in a good coat, he marches about with head erect and open mien, and you would almost take him for a decent worthy creature.

He lives from day to day, from hand to mouth, downcast or sad, just as things may go.

His first care of a morning when he gets up is to know where he will dine; after dinner, he begins to think where he may pick up a supper.

Night brings disquiets of its own.

Either he climbs to a shabby garret he has, unless the landlady, weary of waiting for her rent, has taken the key away from him; or else he shrinks to some tavern on the outskirts of the town, where he waits for daybreak over a crust of bread and a mug of beer.
When he has not threepence in his pocket, as sometimes happens, he has recourse either to a hackney-carriage belonging to a friend, or to a coachman of some man of quality, who gives him a bed on the straw beside the horses.