His curly hair, already streaked with grey, must have dusted a corner in some low wineshop, for a cobweb was hanging to one of his locks over the back of his neck.

He was still as attractive as ever, though his features were rather drawn and aged, and his under jaw projected more; but he was always lively, as he would sometimes say, with a complexion to be envied by a duchess.
"I'll just explain it to you," he resumed, addressing Gervaise.
"It was Celery-Root, you know him, the bloke with a wooden leg.

Well, as he was going back to his native place, he wanted to treat us.

Oh! We were all right, if it hadn't been for that devil of a sun.

In the street everybody looks shaky.