Still, when his friends and neighbors met him in his walks and questioned him about his health, he always answered that he was never better in his life.

As he had always been thought extremely deficient in mind, people did not notice the constant lowering of his faculties.

His love for Flore was the one thing that kept him alive; in fact, he existed only for her, and his weakness in her presence was unbounded; he obeyed the creature's mere look, and watched her movements as a dog watches every gesture of his master.

In short, as Madame Hochon remarked, at fifty-seven years of age he seemed older than Monsieur Hochon, an octogenarian.
Every one will suppose, and with reason, that Max's _appartement_ was worthy of so charming a fellow.

In fact, in the course of six years our captain had by degrees perfected the comfort of his abode and adorned every detail of it, as much for his own pleasure as for Flore's.