When he had so done, he lay down upon his bed with some of its coverings over him, and his coat still tied round his neck, to get through the night.
When he started up, the Godfather Break of Day was peeping at its namesake.

He rose, took his shoes in his hand, turned the key in the door with great caution, and crept downstairs.

Nothing was astir there but the smell of coffee, wine, tobacco, and syrups; and madame's little counter looked ghastly enough.

But he had paid madame his little note at it over night, and wanted to see nobody--wanted nothing but to get on his shoes and his knapsack, open the door, and run away.
He prospered in his object.

No movement or voice was heard when he opened the door; no wicked head tied up in a ragged handkerchief looked out of the upper window.