Old Rouget loved a loose life, and Lolotte killed him.

Madame Bridau, poor woman, loved Philippe, and perished of it.

Vice! vice! my dear friends, do you want to know what vice is?
It is the Bonneau of death." "Then you'll die of a joke," said Desroches, laughing.
Above the fourth floor, the young men were forced to climb one of the steep, straight stairways that are almost ladders, by which the attics of Parisian houses are often reached.

Though Joseph, who remembered Flore in all her beauty, expected to see some frightful change, he was not prepared for the hideous spectacle which now smote his artist's eye.
In a room with bare, unpapered walls, under the sharp pitch of an attic roof, on a cot whose scanty mattress was filled, perhaps, with refuse cotton, a woman lay, green as a body that has been drowned two days, thin as a consumptive an hour before death.

This putrid skeleton had a miserable checked handkerchief bound about her head, which had lost its hair.