In all Paris it was impossible to find another such beard and head of hair as Toupillier’s.  As he walked he appeared bent double; he held a stick in his shaking hand,—­a hand that was covered with lichen, like a granite rock, and with the other he held out the classic hat with a broad brim, filthy and battered, into which, however, there fell abundant alms.  His legs were swathed in rags and bandages, and his feet shuffled along in miserable overshoes of woven mat-weed, inside of which he had fastened excellent cork soles.  He washed his face with certain compounds, which gave it an appearance of forms of illness, and he played the senility of a centenarian to the life.  He reckoned himself a hundred years old in 1830, at which time his actual age was eighty; he was the head of the paupers of Saint-Sulpice, the master of the place, and all those who came to beg under the arcades of the church, safe from the persecutions of the police and beneath the protection of the beadle and the giver of holy water, were forced to pay him a sort of tithe.

When a new heir, a bridegroom, or some godfather left the church, saying, “Here, this is for all of you; don’t torment any of my party,” Toupillier, appointed by the beadle to receive these alms, pocketed three-fourths, and distributed only the remaining quarter among his henchmen, whose tribute amounted to a sou a day.  Money and wine were his last two passions; but he regulated the latter and gave himself up to the former, with neglecting his personal comfort.  He drank at night only, after his dinner, and for twenty years he slept in the arms of drunkenness, his last mistress.

In the early morning he was at his post with all his faculties.  From then until his dinner, which he took at Pere Lathuile’s (made famous by Charlet), he gnawed crusts of bread by way of nourishment; and he gnawed them artistically, with an air of resignation which earned him abundant alms.  The beadle and the giver of holy water, with whom he may have had some private understanding, would say of him:—­

“He is one of the worthy poor of the church; he used to know the rector Languet, who built Saint-Sulpice; he was for twenty years beadle of the church before the Revolution, and he is now over a hundred years old.”

This little biography, well known to all the pious attendants of the church, was, of course, the best of his advertisements, and no hat was so well lined as his.  He bought his house in 1826, and began to invest his money in the Funds in 1830.  From the value of the two investments he must have made something like six thousand francs a year, and probably turned them over by usury, after Cerizet’s own fashion; for the sum he paid for the house was forty thousand francs, while his investment in 1830 was forty-eight thousand more.  His niece, deceived by the old man as much as he deceived the functionaries and the pious souls of the church, believed him the most miserable of paupers, and when she had any fish that were spoiling she sometimes took them to the aged beggar.