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'One morning, in the month of October, a few days before leaving Paris, there came into my room - whilst I was having breakfast - a bent and bowed old man, dirty, in worn clothes, shivering on his long legs like a plucked stork. It was Bixiou. Yes, my Parisian friends, your Bixiou, the wild and charming Bixiou, that outrageous mocker who for fifteen years delighted you so vastly with his scurrilous pamphlets and his caricatures... Ah, what a heart-rending sight the poor fellow was! But for the wry face he pulled as he came in, I would never have recognized him', page 138
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