ho is listening to pleasantries. He was poor, but his fund of good humor was inexhaustible. He soon reached his last sou, never his last burst of laughter. When adversity entered his doors, he saluted this old acquaintance cordially, he tapped all catastrophes on the stomach; he was familiar with fatality to the point of calling it by its nickname: "Good day, Guignon," he said to it.
These persecutions of fate had rendered him inventive.
He was full of resources.
He had no money, but he found means, when it seemed good to him, to indulge in "unbridled extravagance."
One night, he went so far as to eat a "hundred francs" in a supper with a wench, which inspired him to make this memorable remark in the midst of the orgy:
"Pull off my boots, you five-louis jade."
Bossuet was slowly directing his steps towards the profession of a lawyer; he was pursuing his law studies after the manner of Bahorel.
Bossuet had not much domicile, sometimes none at all. He lodged now with one, now with another, most often with Joly. Joly was studying medicine.
He was two years younger than Bossuet.
Joly was the "malade imaginaire" junior.
What he had won in medicine was to be more of an invalid than a doctor.
At three and twenty he thought himself a valetudinarian, and passed his life in inspecting his tongue in the mirror.