CHAPTER VIII--THE UNPLEASANTNESS OF RECEIVING INTO ONE'S HOUSE A POORMAN WHO MAY BE A RICH MAN

  Cosette could not refrain from casting a sidelong glance at the bigdoll, which was still displayed at the toy-merchant's; then she knocked.The door opened. The Thénardier appeared with a candle in her hand.

  "Ah! so it's you, you little wretch! good mercy, but you've taken yourtime! The hussy has been amusing herself!"

  "Madame," said Cosette, trembling all over, "here's a gentleman whowants a lodging."

  The Thénardier speedily replaced her gruff air by her amiable grimace,a change of aspect common to tavern-keepers, and eagerly sought thenew-comer with her eyes.

  "This is the gentleman?" said she.

  "Yes, Madame," replied the man, raising his hand to his hat.

  Wealthy travellers are not so polite. This gesture, and an inspectionof the stranger's costume and baggage, which the Thénardier passed inreview with one glance, caused the amiable grimace to vanish, and thegruff mien to reappear. She resumed dryly:--

  "Enter, my good man."

  The "good man" entered. The Thénardier cast a second glance at him, paidparticular attention to his frock-coat, which was absolutely threadbare,and to his hat, which was a little battered, and, tossing her head,wrinkling her nose, and screwing up her eyes, she consulted her husband,who was still drinking with the carters. The husband replied by thatimperceptible movement of the forefinger, which, backed up by aninflation of the lips, signifies in such cases: A regular beggar.Thereupon, the Thénardier exclaimed:--

  "Ah! see here, my good man; I am very sorry, but I have no room left."

  "Put me where you like," said the man; "in the attic, in the stable. Iwill pay as though I occupied a room."

  "Forty sous."

  "Forty sous; agreed."

  "Very well, then!"

  "Forty sous!" said a carter, in a low tone, to the Thénardier woman;"why, the charge is only twenty sous!"

  "It is forty in his case," retorted the Thénardier, in the same tone. "Idon't lodge poor folks for less."

  "That's true," added her husband, gently; "it ruins a house to have suchpeople in it."

  In the meantime, the man, laying his bundle and his cudgel on a bench,had seated himself at a table, on which Cosette made haste to place abottle of wine and a glass. The merchant who had demanded the bucket ofwater took it to his horse himself. Cosette resumed her place under thekitchen table, and her knitting.

  The man, who had barely moistened his lips in the wine which he hadpoured out for himself, observed the child with peculiar attention.

  Cosette was ugly. If she had been happy, she might have been pretty. Wehave already given a sketch of that sombre little figure. Cosette wasthin and pale; she was nearly eight years old, but she seemed to behardly six. Her large eyes, sunken in a sort of shadow, were almost putout with weeping. The corners of her mouth had that curve of habitualanguish which is seen in condemned persons and desperately sick people.Her hands were, as her mother had divined, "ruined with chilblains." Thefire which illuminated her at that moment brought into relief all theangles of her bones, and rendered her thinness frightfully apparent.As she was always shivering, she had acquired the habit of pressing herknees one against the other. Her entire clothing was but a rag whichwould have inspired pity in summer, and which inspired horror in winter.All she had on was hole-ridden linen, not a scrap of woollen. Her skinwas visible here and there and everywhere black and blue spots could bedescried, which marked the places where the Thénardier woman had touchedher. Her naked legs were thin and red. The hollows in her neck wereenough to make one weep. This child's whole person, her mien, herattitude, the sound of her voice, the intervals which she allowed toelapse between one word and the next, her glance, her silence, herslightest gesture, expressed and betrayed one sole idea,--fear.

  Fear was diffused all over her; she was covered with it, so to speak;fear drew her elbows close to her hips, withdrew her heels under herpetticoat, made her occupy as little space as possible, allowed her onlythe breath that was absolutely necessary, and had become what might becalled the habit of her body, admitting of no possible variation exceptan increase. In the depths of her eyes there was an astonished nookwhere terror lurked.

  Her fear was such, that on her arrival, wet as she was, Cosette did notdare to approach the fire and dry herself, but sat silently down to herwork again.

  The expression in the glance of that child of eight years was habituallyso gloomy, and at times so tragic, that it seemed at certain moments asthough she were on the verge of becoming an idiot or a demon.

  As we have stated, she had never known what it is to pray; she had neverset foot in a church. "Have I the time?" said the Thénardier.

  The man in the yellow coat never took his eyes from Cosette.

  All at once, the Thénardier exclaimed:--

  "By the way, where's that bread?"

  Cosette, according to her custom whenever the Thénardier uplifted hervoice, emerged with great haste from beneath the table.

  She had completely forgotten the bread. She had recourse to theexpedient of children who live in a constant state of fear. She lied.

  "Madame, the baker's shop was shut."

  "You should have knocked."

  "I did knock, Madame."

  "Well?"

  "He did not open the door."

  "I'll find out to-morrow whether that is true," said the Thénardier;"and if you are telling me a lie, I'll lead you a pretty dance. In themeantime, give me back my fifteen-sou piece."

  Cosette plunged her hand into the pocket of her apron, and turned green.The fifteen-sou piece was not there.

  "Ah, come now," said Madame Thénardier, "did you hear me?"

  Cosette turned her pocket inside out; there was nothing in it. Whatcould have become of that money? The unhappy little creature could notfind a word to say. She was petrified.

  "Have you lost that fifteen-sou piece?" screamed the Thénardier,hoarsely, "or do you want to rob me of it?"

  At the same time, she stretched out her arm towards thecat-o'-nine-tails which hung on a nail in the chimney-corner.

  This formidable gesture restored to Cosette sufficient strength toshriek:--

  "Mercy, Madame, Madame! I will not do so any more!"

  The Thénardier took down the whip.

  In the meantime, the man in the yellow coat had been fumbling in the fobof his waistcoat, without any one having noticed his movements. Besides,the other travellers were drinking or playing cards, and were not payingattention to anything.

  Cosette contracted herself into a ball, with anguish, within the angleof the chimney, endeavoring to gather up and conceal her poor half-nudelimbs. The Thénardier raised her arm.

  "Pardon me, Madame," said the man, "but just now I caught sight ofsomething which had fallen from this little one's apron pocket, androlled aside. Perhaps this is it."

  At the same time he bent down and seemed to be searching on the floorfor a moment.

  "Exactly; here it is," he went on, straightening himself up.

  And he held out a silver coin to the Thénardier.

  "Yes, that's it," said she.

  It was not it, for it was a twenty-sou piece; but the Thénardier foundit to her advantage. She put the coin in her pocket, and confinedherself to casting a fierce glance at the child, accompanied with theremark, "Don't let this ever happen again!"

  Cosette returned to what the Thénardier called "her kennel," and herlarge eyes, which were riveted on the traveller, began to take on anexpression such as they had never worn before. Thus far it was only aninnocent amazement, but a sort of stupefied confidence was mingled withit.

  "By the way, would you like some supper?" the Thénardier inquired of thetraveller.

  He made no reply. He appeared to be absorbed in thought.

  "What sort of a man is that?" she muttered between her teeth. "He's somefrightfully poor wretch. He hasn't a sou to pay for a supper. Will heeven pay me for his lodging? It's very lucky, all the same, that it didnot occur to him to steal the money that was on the floor."

  In the meantime, a door had opened, and Éponine and Azelma entered.

  They were two really pretty little girls, more bourgeois than peasantin looks, and very charming; the one with shining chestnut tresses,the other with long black braids hanging down her back, both vivacious,neat, plump, rosy, and healthy, and a delight to the eye. They werewarmly clad, but with so much maternal art that the thickness of thestuffs did not detract from the coquetry of arrangement. There was ahint of winter, though the springtime was not wholly effaced. Lightemanated from these two little beings. Besides this, they were on thethrone. In their toilettes, in their gayety, in the noise which theymade, there was sovereignty. When they entered, the Thénardier said tothem in a grumbling tone which was full of adoration, "Ah! there youare, you children!"

  Then drawing them, one after the other to her knees, smoothing theirhair, tying their ribbons afresh, and then releasing them withthat gentle manner of shaking off which is peculiar to mothers, sheexclaimed, "What frights they are!"

  They went and seated themselves in the chimney-corner. They had a doll,which they turned over and over on their knees with all sorts of joyouschatter. From time to time Cosette raised her eyes from her knitting,and watched their play with a melancholy air.

  Éponine and Azelma did not look at Cosette. She was the same as a dogto them. These three little girls did not yet reckon up four and twentyyears between them, but they already represented the whole society ofman; envy on the one side, disdain on the other.

  The doll of the Thénardier sisters was very much faded, very old, andmuch broken; but it seemed none the less admirable to Cosette, whohad never had a doll in her life, _a real doll_, to make use of theexpression which all children will understand.

  All at once, the Thénardier, who had been going back and forth in theroom, perceived that Cosette's mind was distracted, and that, instead ofworking, she was paying attention to the little ones at their play.

  "Ah! I've caught you at it!" she cried. "So that's the way you work!I'll make you work to the tune of the whip; that I will."

  The stranger turned to the Thénardier, without quitting his chair.

  "Bah, Madame," he said, with an almost timid air, "let her play!"

  Such a wish expressed by a traveller who had eaten a slice of mutton andhad drunk a couple of bottles of wine with his supper, and who had notthe air of being frightfully poor, would have been equivalent to anorder. But that a man with such a hat should permit himself such adesire, and that a man with such a coat should permit himself to have awill, was something which Madame Thénardier did not intend to tolerate.She retorted with acrimony:--

  "She must work, since she eats. I don't feed her to do nothing."

  "What is she making?" went on the stranger, in a gentle voice whichcontrasted strangely with his beggarly garments and his porter'sshoulders.

  The Thénardier deigned to reply:--

  "Stockings, if you please. Stockings for my little girls, who have none,so to speak, and who are absolutely barefoot just now."

  The man looked at Cosette's poor little red feet, and continued:--

  "When will she have finished this pair of stockings?"

  "She has at least three or four good days' work on them still, the lazycreature!"

  "And how much will that pair of stockings be worth when she has finishedthem?"

  The Thénardier cast a glance of disdain on him.

  "Thirty sous at least."

  "Will you sell them for five francs?" went on the man.

  "Good heavens!" exclaimed a carter who was listening, with a loud laugh;"five francs! the deuce, I should think so! five balls!"

  Thénardier thought it time to strike in.

  "Yes, sir; if such is your fancy, you will be allowed to have that pairof stockings for five francs. We can refuse nothing to travellers."

  "You must pay on the spot," said the Thénardier, in her curt andperemptory fashion.

  "I will buy that pair of stockings," replied the man, "and," he added,drawing a five-franc piece from his pocket, and laying it on the table,"I will pay for them."

  Then he turned to Cosette.

  "Now I own your work; play, my child."

  The carter was so much touched by the five-franc piece, that heabandoned his glass and hastened up.

  "But it's true!" he cried, examining it. "A real hind wheel! and notcounterfeit!"

  Thénardier approached and silently put the coin in his pocket.

  The Thénardier had no reply to make. She bit her lips, and her faceassumed an expression of hatred.

  In the meantime, Cosette was trembling. She ventured to ask:--

  "Is it true, Madame? May I play?"

  "Play!" said the Thénardier, in a terrible voice.

  "Thanks, Madame," said Cosette.

  And while her mouth thanked the Thénardier, her whole little soulthanked the traveller.

  Thénardier had resumed his drinking; his wife whispered in his ear:--

  "Who can this yellow man be?"

  "I have seen millionaires with coats like that," replied Thénardier, ina sovereign manner.

  Cosette had dropped her knitting, but had not left her seat. Cosettealways moved as little as possible. She picked up some old rags and herlittle lead sword from a box behind her.

  Éponine and Azelma paid no attention to what was going on. They had justexecuted a very important operation; they had just got hold of thecat. They had thrown their doll on the ground, and Éponine, who wasthe elder, was swathing the little cat, in spite of its mewing and itscontortions, in a quantity of clothes and red and blue scraps. Whileperforming this serious and difficult work she was saying to her sisterin that sweet and adorable language of children, whose grace, like thesplendor of the butterfly's wing, vanishes when one essays to fix itfast.

  "You see, sister, this doll is more amusing than the other. She twists,she cries, she is warm. See, sister, let us play with her. She shall bemy little girl. I will be a lady. I will come to see you, and you shalllook at her. Gradually, you will perceive her whiskers, and that willsurprise you. And then you will see her ears, and then you will see hertail and it will amaze you. And you will say to me, 'Ah! Mon Dieu!' andI will say to you: 'Yes, Madame, it is my little girl. Little girls aremade like that just at present.'"

  Azelma listened admiringly to Éponine.

  In the meantime, the drinkers had begun to sing an obscene song, andto laugh at it until the ceiling shook. Thénardier accompanied andencouraged them.

  As birds make nests out of everything, so children make a doll out ofanything which comes to hand. While Éponine and Azelma were bundling upthe cat, Cosette, on her side, had dressed up her sword. That done, shelaid it in her arms, and sang to it softly, to lull it to sleep.

  The doll is one of the most imperious needs and, at the same time, oneof the most charming instincts of feminine childhood. To care for, toclothe, to deck, to dress, to undress, to redress, to teach, scold alittle, to rock, to dandle, to lull to sleep, to imagine that somethingis some one,--therein lies the whole woman's future. While dreaming andchattering, making tiny outfits, and baby clothes, while sewing littlegowns, and corsages and bodices, the child grows into a young girl, theyoung girl into a big girl, the big girl into a woman. The first childis the continuation of the last doll.

  A little girl without a doll is almost as unhappy, and quite asimpossible, as a woman without children.

  So Cosette had made herself a doll out of the sword.

  Madame Thénardier approached _the yellow man_; "My husband is right,"she thought; "perhaps it is M. Laffitte; there are such queer rich men!"

  She came and set her elbows on the table.

  "Monsieur," said she. At this word, _Monsieur_, the man turned; up tothat time, the Thénardier had addressed him only as _brave home_ or_bonhomme_.

  "You see, sir," she pursued, assuming a sweetish air that was even morerepulsive to behold than her fierce mien, "I am willing that the childshould play; I do not oppose it, but it is good for once, because youare generous. You see, she has nothing; she must needs work."

  "Then this child is not yours?" demanded the man.

  "Oh! mon Dieu! no, sir! she is a little beggar whom we have taken inthrough charity; a sort of imbecile child. She must have water on thebrain; she has a large head, as you see. We do what we can for her, forwe are not rich; we have written in vain to her native place, and havereceived no reply these six months. It must be that her mother is dead."

  "Ah!" said the man, and fell into his revery once more.

  "Her mother didn't amount to much," added the Thénardier; "she abandonedher child."

  During the whole of this conversation Cosette, as though warned by someinstinct that she was under discussion, had not taken her eyes from theThénardier's face; she listened vaguely; she caught a few words here andthere.

  Meanwhile, the drinkers, all three-quarters intoxicated, were repeatingtheir unclean refrain with redoubled gayety; it was a highly spiced andwanton song, in which the Virgin and the infant Jesus were introduced.The Thénardier went off to take part in the shouts of laughter. Cosette,from her post under the table, gazed at the fire, which was reflectedfrom her fixed eyes. She had begun to rock the sort of baby which shehad made, and, as she rocked it, she sang in a low voice, "My mother isdead! my mother is dead! my mother is dead!"

  On being urged afresh by the hostess, the yellow man, "the millionaire,"consented at last to take supper.

  "What does Monsieur wish?"

  "Bread and cheese," said the man.

  "Decidedly, he is a beggar" thought Madame Thénardier.

  The drunken men were still singing their song, and the child under thetable was singing hers.

  All at once, Cosette paused; she had just turned round and caught sightof the little Thénardiers' doll, which they had abandoned for the catand had left on the floor a few paces from the kitchen table.

  Then she dropped the swaddled sword, which only half met her needs, andcast her eyes slowly round the room. Madame Thénardier was whispering toher husband and counting over some money; Ponine and Zelma were playingwith the cat; the travellers were eating or drinking or singing; nota glance was fixed on her. She had not a moment to lose; she crept outfrom under the table on her hands and knees, made sure once more that noone was watching her; then she slipped quickly up to the doll and seizedit. An instant later she was in her place again, seated motionless, andonly turned so as to cast a shadow on the doll which she held in herarms. The happiness of playing with a doll was so rare for her that itcontained all the violence of voluptuousness.

  No one had seen her, except the traveller, who was slowly devouring hismeagre supper.

  This joy lasted about a quarter of an hour.

  But with all the precautions that Cosette had taken she did not perceivethat one of the doll's legs stuck out and that the fire on the hearthlighted it up very vividly. That pink and shining foot, projecting fromthe shadow, suddenly struck the eye of Azelma, who said to Éponine,"Look! sister."

  The two little girls paused in stupefaction; Cosette had dared to taketheir doll!

  Éponine rose, and, without releasing the cat, she ran to her mother, andbegan to tug at her skirt.

  "Let me alone!" said her mother; "what do you want?"

  "Mother," said the child, "look there!"

  And she pointed to Cosette.

  Cosette, absorbed in the ecstasies of possession, no longer saw or heardanything.

  Madame Thénardier's countenance assumed that peculiar expression whichis composed of the terrible mingled with the trifles of life, and whichhas caused this style of woman to be named _megaeras_.

  On this occasion, wounded pride exasperated her wrath still further.Cosette had overstepped all bounds; Cosette had laid violent hands onthe doll belonging to "these young ladies." A czarina who should seea muzhik trying on her imperial son's blue ribbon would wear no otherface.

  She shrieked in a voice rendered hoarse with indignation:--

  "Cosette!"

  Cosette started as though the earth had trembled beneath her; she turnedround.

  "Cosette!" repeated the Thénardier.

  Cosette took the doll and laid it gently on the floor with a sort ofveneration, mingled with despair; then, without taking her eyes fromit, she clasped her hands, and, what is terrible to relate of a childof that age, she wrung them; then--not one of the emotions of the day,neither the trip to the forest, nor the weight of the bucket of water,nor the loss of the money, nor the sight of the whip, nor even the sadwords which she had heard Madame Thénardier utter had been able to wringthis from her--she wept; she burst out sobbing.

  Meanwhile, the traveller had risen to his feet.

  "What is the matter?" he said to the Thénardier.

  "Don't you see?" said the Thénardier, pointing to the _corpus delicti_which lay at Cosette's feet.

  "Well, what of it?" resumed the man.

  "That beggar," replied the Thénardier, "has permitted herself to touchthe children's doll!"

  "All this noise for that!" said the man; "well, what if she did playwith that doll?"

  "She touched it with her dirty hands!" pursued the Thénardier, "with herfrightful hands!"

  Here Cosette redoubled her sobs.

  "Will you stop your noise?" screamed the Thénardier.

  The man went straight to the street door, opened it, and stepped out.

  As soon as he had gone, the Thénardier profited by his absence to giveCosette a hearty kick under the table, which made the child utter loudcries.

  The door opened again, the man re-appeared; he carried in both hands thefabulous doll which we have mentioned, and which all the village bratshad been staring at ever since the morning, and he set it upright infront of Cosette, saying:--

  "Here; this is for you."

  It must be supposed that in the course of the hour and more which he hadspent there he had taken confused notice through his revery of thattoy shop, lighted up by fire-pots and candles so splendidly that it wasvisible like an illumination through the window of the drinking-shop.

  Cosette raised her eyes; she gazed at the man approaching her with thatdoll as she might have gazed at the sun; she heard the unprecedentedwords, "It is for you"; she stared at him; she stared at the doll; thenshe slowly retreated, and hid herself at the extreme end, under thetable in a corner of the wall.

  She no longer cried; she no longer wept; she had the appearance of nolonger daring to breathe.

  The Thénardier, Éponine, and Azelma were like statues also; the verydrinkers had paused; a solemn silence reigned through the whole room.

  Madame Thénardier, petrified and mute, recommenced her conjectures: "Whois that old fellow? Is he a poor man? Is he a millionaire? Perhaps he isboth; that is to say, a thief."

  The face of the male Thénardier presented that expressive fold whichaccentuates the human countenance whenever the dominant instinct appearsthere in all its bestial force. The tavern-keeper stared alternately atthe doll and at the traveller; he seemed to be scenting out the man, ashe would have scented out a bag of money. This did not last longer thanthe space of a flash of lightning. He stepped up to his wife and said toher in a low voice:--

  "That machine costs at least thirty francs. No nonsense. Down on yourbelly before that man!"

  Gross natures have this in common with _naïve_ natures, that theypossess no transition state.

  "Well, Cosette," said the Thénardier, in a voice that strove to besweet, and which was composed of the bitter honey of malicious women,"aren't you going to take your doll?"

  Cosette ventured to emerge from her hole.

  "The gentleman has given you a doll, my little Cosette," saidThénardier, with a caressing air. "Take it; it is yours."

  Cosette gazed at the marvellous doll in a sort of terror. Her face wasstill flooded with tears, but her eyes began to fill, like the sky atdaybreak, with strange beams of joy. What she felt at that moment wasa little like what she would have felt if she had been abruptly told,"Little one, you are the Queen of France."

  It seemed to her that if she touched that doll, lightning would dartfrom it.

  This was true, up to a certain point, for she said to herself that theThénardier would scold and beat her.

  Nevertheless, the attraction carried the day. She ended by drawing nearand murmuring timidly as she turned towards Madame Thénardier:--

  "May I, Madame?"

  No words can render that air, at once despairing, terrified, andecstatic.

  "Pardi!" cried the Thénardier, "it is yours. The gentleman has given itto you."

  "Truly, sir?" said Cosette. "Is it true? Is the 'lady' mine?"

  The stranger's eyes seemed to be full of tears. He appeared to havereached that point of emotion where a man does not speak for fear lesthe should weep. He nodded to Cosette, and placed the "lady's" hand inher tiny hand.

  Cosette hastily withdrew her hand, as though that of the "lady" scorchedher, and began to stare at the floor. We are forced to add that at thatmoment she stuck out her tongue immoderately. All at once she wheeledround and seized the doll in a transport.

  "I shall call her Catherine," she said.

  It was an odd moment when Cosette's rags met and clasped the ribbons andfresh pink muslins of the doll.

  "Madame," she resumed, "may I put her on a chair?"

  "Yes, my child," replied the Thénardier.

  It was now the turn of Éponine and Azelma to gaze at Cosette with envy.

  Cosette placed Catherine on a chair, then seated herself on the floorin front of her, and remained motionless, without uttering a word, in anattitude of contemplation.

  "Play, Cosette," said the stranger.

  "Oh! I am playing," returned the child.

  This stranger, this unknown individual, who had the air of a visit whichProvidence was making on Cosette, was the person whom the Thénardierhated worse than any one in the world at that moment. However, it wasnecessary to control herself. Habituated as she was to dissimulationthrough endeavoring to copy her husband in all his actions, theseemotions were more than she could endure. She made haste to send herdaughters to bed, then she asked the man's _permission_ to send Cosetteoff also; "for she has worked hard all day," she added with a maternalair. Cosette went off to bed, carrying Catherine in her arms.

  From time to time the Thénardier went to the other end of the room whereher husband was, to _relieve her soul_, as she said. She exchanged withher husband words which were all the more furious because she dared notutter them aloud.

  "Old beast! What has he got in his belly, to come and upset us in thismanner! To want that little monster to play! to give away forty-francdolls to a jade that I would sell for forty sous, so I would! A littlemore and he will be saying _Your Majesty_ to her, as though to theDuchess de Berry! Is there any sense in it? Is he mad, then, thatmysterious old fellow?"

  "Why! it is perfectly simple," replied Thénardier, "if that amuses him!It amuses you to have the little one work; it amuses him to have herplay. He's all right. A traveller can do what he pleases when he paysfor it. If the old fellow is a philanthropist, what is that to you? Ifhe is an imbecile, it does not concern you. What are you worrying for,so long as he has money?"

  The language of a master, and the reasoning of an innkeeper, neither ofwhich admitted of any reply.

  The man had placed his elbows on the table, and resumed his thoughtfulattitude. All the other travellers, both pedlers and carters, hadwithdrawn a little, and had ceased singing. They were staring at himfrom a distance, with a sort of respectful awe. This poorly dressedman, who drew "hind-wheels" from his pocket with so much ease, andwho lavished gigantic dolls on dirty little brats in wooden shoes, wascertainly a magnificent fellow, and one to be feared.

  Many hours passed. The midnight mass was over, the chimes had ceased,the drinkers had taken their departure, the drinking-shop was closed,the public room was deserted, the fire extinct, the stranger stillremained in the same place and the same attitude. From time to time hechanged the elbow on which he leaned. That was all; but he had not saida word since Cosette had left the room.

  The Thénardiers alone, out of politeness and curiosity, had remained inthe room.

  "Is he going to pass the night in that fashion?" grumbled theThénardier. When two o'clock in the morning struck, she declared herselfvanquished, and said to her husband, "I'm going to bed. Do as you like."Her husband seated himself at a table in the corner, lighted a candle,and began to read the _Courrier Français_.

  A good hour passed thus. The worthy inn-keeper had perused the _CourrierFrançais_ at least three times, from the date of the number to theprinter's name. The stranger did not stir.

  Thénardier fidgeted, coughed, spit, blew his nose, and creaked hischair. Not a movement on the man's part. "Is he asleep?" thoughtThénardier. The man was not asleep, but nothing could arouse him.

  At last Thénardier took off his cap, stepped gently up to him, andventured to say:--

  "Is not Monsieur going to his repose?"

  _Not going to bed_ would have seemed to him excessive and familiar._To repose_ smacked of luxury and respect. These words possess themysterious and admirable property of swelling the bill on the followingday. A chamber where one _sleeps_ costs twenty sous; a chamber in whichone _reposes_ costs twenty francs.

  "Well!" said the stranger, "you are right. Where is your stable?"

  "Sir!" exclaimed Thénardier, with a smile, "I will conduct you, sir."

  He took the candle; the man picked up his bundle and cudgel, andThénardier conducted him to a chamber on the first floor, which was ofrare splendor, all furnished in mahogany, with a low bedstead, curtainedwith red calico.

  "What is this?" said the traveller.

  "It is really our bridal chamber," said the tavern-keeper. "My wife andI occupy another. This is only entered three or four times a year."

  "I should have liked the stable quite as well," said the man, abruptly.

  Thénardier pretended not to hear this unamiable remark.

  He lighted two perfectly fresh wax candles which figured on thechimney-piece. A very good fire was flickering on the hearth.

  On the chimney-piece, under a glass globe, stood a woman's head-dress insilver wire and orange flowers.

  "And what is this?" resumed the stranger.

  "That, sir," said Thénardier, "is my wife's wedding bonnet."

  The traveller surveyed the object with a glance which seemed to say,"There really was a time, then, when that monster was a maiden?"

  Thénardier lied, however. When he had leased this paltry building forthe purpose of converting it into a tavern, he had found this chamberdecorated in just this manner, and had purchased the furniture andobtained the orange flowers at second hand, with the idea that thiswould cast a graceful shadow on "his spouse," and would result in whatthe English call respectability for his house.

  When the traveller turned round, the host had disappeared. Thénardierhad withdrawn discreetly, without venturing to wish him a good night,as he did not wish to treat with disrespectful cordiality a man whom heproposed to fleece royally the following morning.

  The inn-keeper retired to his room. His wife was in bed, but she was notasleep. When she heard her husband's step she turned over and said tohim:--

  "Do you know, I'm going to turn Cosette out of doors to-morrow."

  Thénardier replied coldly:--

  "How you do go on!"

  They exchanged no further words, and a few moments later their candlewas extinguished.

  As for the traveller, he had deposited his cudgel and his bundle in acorner. The landlord once gone, he threw himself into an arm-chair andremained for some time buried in thought. Then he removed his shoes,took one of the two candles, blew out the other, opened the door, andquitted the room, gazing about him like a person who is in search ofsomething. He traversed a corridor and came upon a staircase. There heheard a very faint and gentle sound like the breathing of a child. Hefollowed this sound, and came to a sort of triangular recess built underthe staircase, or rather formed by the staircase itself. This recess wasnothing else than the space under the steps. There, in the midst of allsorts of old papers and potsherds, among dust and spiders' webs, was abed--if one can call by the name of bed a straw pallet so full of holesas to display the straw, and a coverlet so tattered as to show thepallet. No sheets. This was placed on the floor.

  In this bed Cosette was sleeping.

  The man approached and gazed down upon her.

  Cosette was in a profound sleep; she was fully dressed. In the wintershe did not undress, in order that she might not be so cold.

  Against her breast was pressed the doll, whose large eyes, wide open,glittered in the dark. From time to time she gave vent to a deep sigh asthough she were on the point of waking, and she strained the doll almostconvulsively in her arms. Beside her bed there was only one of herwooden shoes.

  A door which stood open near Cosette's pallet permitted a view of arather large, dark room. The stranger stepped into it. At the furtherextremity, through a glass door, he saw two small, very white beds.They belonged to Éponine and Azelma. Behind these beds, and half hidden,stood an uncurtained wicker cradle, in which the little boy who hadcried all the evening lay asleep.

  The stranger conjectured that this chamber connected with that of theThénardier pair. He was on the point of retreating when his eye fellupon the fireplace--one of those vast tavern chimneys where there isalways so little fire when there is any fire at all, and which areso cold to look at. There was no fire in this one, there was not evenashes; but there was something which attracted the stranger's gaze,nevertheless. It was two tiny children's shoes, coquettish in shapeand unequal in size. The traveller recalled the graceful and immemorialcustom in accordance with which children place their shoes in thechimney on Christmas eve, there to await in the darkness some sparklinggift from their good fairy. Éponine and Azelma had taken care not toomit this, and each of them had set one of her shoes on the hearth.

  The traveller bent over them.

  The fairy, that is to say, their mother, had already paid her visit, andin each he saw a brand-new and shining ten-sou piece.

  The man straightened himself up, and was on the point of withdrawing,when far in, in the darkest corner of the hearth, he caught sightof another object. He looked at it, and recognized a wooden shoe, afrightful shoe of the coarsest description, half dilapidated and allcovered with ashes and dried mud. It was Cosette's sabot. Cosette, withthat touching trust of childhood, which can always be deceived yet neverdiscouraged, had placed her shoe on the hearth-stone also.

  Hope in a child who has never known anything but despair is a sweet andtouching thing.

  There was nothing in this wooden shoe.

  The stranger fumbled in his waistcoat, bent over and placed a louis d'orin Cosette's shoe.

  Then he regained his own chamber with the stealthy tread of a wolf.