The banks of Dantzic, Berlin, Vienna, and Paris, held him in high esteem; his money passed through all of them.
He was fat, unctuous, and florid, and lived well.

His wife's nose was much too long, and her bones much too prominent, but she loved him with all her heart, and made him little sweetmeats.

A perfect congeniality of sentiment united this charming couple.

They talked with each other with open hearts, and never thought of keeping back any of their evil thoughts.

Every year, at Saint Martin's day, when rents became due, they turned out of doors the families of five or six workmen who could not pay for their terms; but they dined none the worse after it, and their good-night kiss was none the less sweet.
The husband was sixty-six years old, the wife sixty-four.