Outside he slipped, and he felt the tears welling to his eyes again, but he was not angry with his lot--he was only feeble and ill.

Yes, he was too tired; the rain had wet him too much; he was nipped with cold, but the idea of going back to his great dark house in the Rue Miromesnil froze his heart.

The house door at Nana's was not open as yet, and he had to wait till the porter made his appearance.

He smiled as he went upstairs, for he already felt penetrated by the soft warmth of that cozy retreat, where he would be able to stretch his limbs and go to sleep.
When Zoe opened the door to him she gave a start of most uneasy astonishment.

Madame had been taken ill with an atrocious sick headache, and she hadn't closed her eyes all night.