by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER VIII.
IS HE RICH OR POOR?
Cosette could not refrain from taking a side glance at the large dollwhich was still displayed at the toy-shop, and then tapped at the door;it opened, and Madame Thénardier appeared, candle in hand.
"Oh, it's you, you little devil! Well, I'll be hanged if you have nottaken time enough; you've been playing, I expect."
"Madame," said Cosette, with a violent tremor, "this gentleman wants abed-room."
Madame Thénardier exchanged her coarse look for an amiable grimace,--achange peculiar to landladies,--and greedily turned her eyes on thenew-comer.
"Is this the gentleman?" she said.
"Yes, Madame," the man answered, touching his hat.
Rich travellers are not so polite. This gesture and the inspection ofthe stranger's clothes and luggage, which the landlady took in at aglance, caused the amiable grimace to disappear and the rough look toreturn. She continued dryly,--
"Come in, my good man."
The "good man" entered; the landlady gave him a second look, carefullyexamined his threadbare coat and broken-brimmed hat, and consultedher husband, who was still drinking with the carter, by a toss of thehead, a curl of her nose, and a wink. The husband answered with thatimperceptible movement of the forefinger which, laid on the puffed-outlips, signifies, "No go!" Upon this the landlady exclaimed,--
"My good man, I am very sorry, but I haven't a bed-room disengaged."
"Put me where you like," the man said,--"in the loft or the stable. Iwill pay as if it were a bed-room."
"Forty sous."
"Be it so."
"Forty sous!" a carrier whispered to the landlady; "why, it is onlytwenty sous."
"It's forty for a man like him," Madame Thénardier replied in the sametone; "I do not lodge poor people under."
"That is true," the husband added gently; "it injures a house to havecustomers of that sort."
In the mean while the man, after leaving his bundle and stick on aform, sat down at a table on which Cosette had hastened to place abottle of wine and a glass. The pedler who had asked for the bucket ofwater himself carried it to his horse, while Cosette returned to herplace under the kitchen table and her knitting. The man, who had scarcemoistened his lips with the glass of wine he poured out, gazed at thechild with strange attention. Cosette was ugly, but had she beenhappy she might possibly have been pretty. We have already sketchedher little overclouded face: Cosette was thin and sickly, and, thougheight years of age, looked hardly six. Her large eyes, buried in aspecies of shadow, were almost extinguished by constant crying, whilethe corners of her mouth had the curve of habitual agony, which may beobserved in condemned prisoners and in patients who are given over."Her hands were," as her mother had foretold, "ruined with chilblains."The fire-light, which shone upon her at this moment, brought out theangles of her bones and rendered her thinness frightfully visible;as she constantly shivered, she had grown into the habit of alwayskeeping her knees pressed against each other. Her entire clothing wasone rag, which would have aroused pity in summer, and caused horrorin winter. She had only torn calico upon her person, and not a morselof woollen stuff: her skin was here and there visible, and everywherecould be distinguished blue or black marks, indicating the spots whereher mistress had beaten her. Her bare legs were red and rough, and thehollow between her shoulder-blades would have moved you to tears. Thewhole person of this child, her attitude, the sound of her voice, theinterval between one word and the next, her look, her silence, herslightest movement, expressed and translated but one idea,--fear. Fearwas spread over her; she was, so to speak, clothed in it; fear drew upher elbows against her hips, withdrew her heels under her petticoats,made her occupy as little room as possible, breathe only whenabsolutely necessary, and had become what might be called the habit ofher body, without any possible variation save that of increasing. Therewas a corner in her eye in which terror lurked. This fear was so greatthat Cosette on returning wet through did not dare go to the fire,but silently began her work again. The expression of this child's eyewas habitually so gloomy and at times so tragical, that it seemed atcertain moments as if she were on the point of becoming either an idiotor a demon. Never, as we said, had she known what prayer was; neverhad she set foot in a church. "Can I spare the time for it?" MadameThénardier used to say. The man in the yellow coat did not take hiseyes off Cosette. All at once her mistress cried,--
"Hilloh! where's the loaf?"
Cosette, according to her custom whenever Madame Thénardier raised hervoice, quickly came from under the table. She had completely forgottenthe loaf, and had recourse to the expedient of terrified children,--shetold a falsehood.
"Madame, the baker's was shut up."
"You ought to have knocked."
"I did do so, but he would not open."
"I shall know to-morrow whether that is the truth," said her mistress;"and if it is not, look out, that's all. In the mean while give me backmy fifteen-sous piece."
Cosette plunged her hand into the pocket of her apron and turned green:the coin was no longer in it.
"Well," her mistress said, "did you not hear me?"
Cosette turned her pocket out, but there was nothing in it: what couldhave become of the money? The wretched little creature could not find aword to say; she was petrified.
"Have you lost it," her mistress asked, "or are you trying to rob me?"
At the same time she stretched out her hand to the cat-o'-nine-tails;this formidable gesture restored Cosette the strength to cry,--
"Mercy, Madame! I will never do it again."
Madame Thénardier took down the whip.
The man in the yellow coat had been feeling in his waistcoat pocket,though no one noticed it. Moreover, the other guests were drinking orcard-playing, and paid no attention to him. Cosette had retreated inagony to the chimney-corner, shivering to make herself as little as shecould, and protect her poor half-naked limbs. Her mistress raised herarm.
"I beg your pardon, Madame," said the man, "but just now I sawsomething fall out of the little girl's pocket and roll away. It may bethat."
At the same time he stooped and appeared to be searching for a moment.
"Yes, here it is," he continued, as he rose and held out a coin to thelandlady.
"Yes, that's it," she said.
It was not the real coin, it was a twenty-sous piece, but Madame madea profit by the transaction. She put it in her pocket, and confinedherself to giving the child a stern glance, saying,--"That had betternot happen again."
Cosette returned to what her mistress called her niche, and her largeeyes, fixed on the strange traveller, began to assume an expressionthey had never had before. It was no longer a simple astonishment, buta sort of stupefied confidence was mingled with it.
"Do you want any supper?" the landlady asked the traveller.
He did not reply, but seemed to be lost in thought. "What can this manbe?" she muttered to herself. "He is some wretched beggar who has not apenny to pay for his supper. Will he be able to pay for his bed-room?It is lucky, after all, that he did not think of stealing the silvercoin that was on the ground."
At this moment a door opened, and Éponine and Azelma came in. Theywere really two pretty little girls, of the middle class rather thanpeasants, and very charming, one with her auburn well-smoothed tresses,the other with long black plaits hanging down her back; both werequick, clean, plump, fresh, and pleasant to look on through theirbeaming health. They were warmly clothed, but with such maternal artthat the thickness of the stuff did not remove anything of the coquetryof the style; winter was foreseen, but spring was not effaced. In theirdress, their gayety, and the noise which they made, there was a certainqueenliness. When they came in, their mother said to them in a scoldingvoice, which was full of adoration, "There you are, then."
Then, drawing them on to her knees in turn, smoothing their hair,re-tying their ribbons, and letting them go with that gentle shakewhich is peculiar to mothers, she exclaimed, "H
ow smart they are!" Theysat down by the fire-side, with a doll which they turned over on theirknees with all sorts of joyous prattle. At times Cosette raised hereyes from her knitting and mournfully watched their playing, Éponineand Azelma did not look at Cosette, for to them she was like the dog.These three little girls did not count four-and-twenty years betweenthem, and already represented human society,--on one side envy, onthe other, disdain. The doll was very old and broken, but it did notappear the less wonderful to Cosette, who never in her life possessed adoll,--a "real doll," to employ an expression which all children willunderstand. All at once the landlady, who was going about the room,noticed that Cosette was idling, and watching the children instead ofworking.
"Ah, I have caught you," she exclaimed; "that's the way you work, isit? I'll make you work with the cat-o'-nine tails."
The stranger, without leaving his chair, turned to Madame Thénardier.
"Oh, Madame," he said with an almost timid smile, "let her play!"
Such a wish would have been a command from any traveller who hadordered a good supper and drunk a couple of bottles of wine, and whodid not look like a beggar. But the landlady did not tolerate a man whohad such a hat, having a desire, and one who wore such a coat, daringto have a will of his own! Hence she answered sharply,--
"She must work, since she eats; I do not keep her to do nothing."
"What is she doing, pray?" the stranger continued, in that gentle voicewhich formed such a strange contrast with his beggar clothes and portershoulders.
The landlady deigned to reply,--
"She is knitting stockings, if you please, for my little girls, whohave none, so to speak, and are forced to go about barefooted."
The man looked at Cosette's poor red feet, and said,--
"When will she have finished that pair of stockings?"
"She has three or four good days' work, the idle slut!"
"And how much may such a pair be worth when finished?"
The landlady gave him a contemptuous glance.
"At least thirty sous."
"Will you sell them to me for five francs?" the man continued.
"Pardieu!" a carrier who was listening exclaimed, with a coarse laugh,"I should think so,--five balls!"
Thénardier thought it his duty to speak.
"Yes, sir, if such be your fancy, you can have the pair of stockingsfor five francs; we cannot refuse travellers anything."
"Cash payment," the landlady said in her peremptory voice.
"I buy the pair of stockings," the man said, and added, as he drew afive-franc piece from his pocket and laid it on the table, "I pay forthem."
Then he turned to Cosette,--
"Your labor is now mine; so play, my child."
The carrier was so affected by the five-franc piece that he left hisglass and hurried up.
"It is real," he exclaimed, after examining it; "a true hind-wheel, andno mistake."
Thénardier came up and silently put the coin in his pocket. Thelandlady could make no answer, but she bit her lips, and her faceassumed an expression of hatred. Cosette was trembling, but stillventured to ask,--
"Is it true, Madame? May I play?"
"Play!" her mistress said, in a terrible voice.
And while her lips thanked the landlady, all her little soul thankedthe traveller. Thénardier had returned to his glass, and his wifewhispered in his ear,--
"What can this yellow man be?"
"I have seen," Thénardier replied, with a sovereign air, "millionnaireswho wore a coat like his."
Cosette had laid down her needle, but did not dare leave her place,for, as a rule, she moved as little as possible. She took from a boxbehind her a few old rags and her little leaden sword, Éponine andAzelma paid no attention to what was going on, for they were carryingout a very important operation. They had seized the cat, thrown thedoll on the ground, and Éponine, who was the elder, was wrapping upthe kitten, in spite of its meawings and writhings, in a quantity ofred and blue rags. While performing this serious and difficult task,she was saying to her sister in the sweet and adorable language ofchildren, the grace of which, like the glistening of butterflies'wings, disappears when you try to fix it,--
"This doll, sister, is more amusing than the other, you see, for itmoves, cries, and is warm; so we will play with it. It is my littledaughter, and I am a lady; you will call upon me, and look at it. Bydegrees you will see its whiskers, and that will surprise you, and thenyou will see its ears and its tail, and that will surprise you too,and you will say to me, 'Oh, my goodness!' and I shall answer, 'Yes,Madame, it is a little child I have like that; little children are soat present.'"
Azelma listened to Éponine in admiration; in the mean while the topershad begun singing an obscene song at which they laughed till theceiling shook, Thénardier encouraging and accompanying them. In thesame way as birds make a nest of everything, children make a doll ofno matter what. While Éponine and Azelma were wrapping up the kitten,Cosette on her side was performing the same operation on her sword.This done, she laid it on her arm, and sang softly to lull it to sleep.A doll is one of the most imperious wants, and at the same time one ofthe most delicious instincts, of feminine childhood. To clean, clothe,adorn, dress, undress, dress again, teach, scold a little, nurse, lull,send to sleep, and imagine that something is somebody,--the wholefuture of a woman is contained in this. While dreaming and prattling,making little trousseaux and cradles, while sewing little frocks andaprons, the child becomes a girl, the girl becomes a maiden, and themaiden a woman. The first child is a continuation of the last doll. Alittle girl without a doll is nearly as unhappy and quite as impossibleas a wife without children; Cosette, therefore, made a doll of hersword. The landlady, in the mean while, walked up to the "yellow man.""My husband is right," she thought, "it is perhaps M. Lafitte. Somerich men are so whimsical." She leaned her elbow on the table and said,"Sir--"
At the word "Sir" the man turned round, for the female Thénardier hadup to the present only addressed him as "My good man."
"You see, sir," she continued, assuming her gentle air, which was stillmore dreadful to see than her fierce look, "I am glad to see the childplay, and do not oppose it, and it is all right for once, as you aregenerous. But, you see, she has nothing, and must work."
"Then, she is not a child of yours?" the man asked.
"Oh! Lord, no, sir; she is a poor little girl we took in out ofcharity. She is a sort of imbecile, and I think has water on the brain,for she has a big head. We do all we can for her; but we are not rich,and though we write to her people, we have not had an answer for sixmonths. It looks as if the mother were dead."
"Ah!" said the man, and fell back into his reverie.
"The mother could n't have been much," the landlady added, "for shedeserted her child."
During the whole of the conversation Cosette, as if an instinct warnedher that she was being talked about, did not take her eyes off hermistress. She listened, and heard two or three indistinct words hereand there. In the mean while, the drinkers, who were three partsintoxicated, struck up their unclean song again with redoubled gayety,and Madame Thénardier went to take part in the bursts of laughter.Cosette, under her table, looked at the fire, which was reflected inher fixed eyes; she had begun rocking the species of doll which she hadmade, and while lulling it to sleep, sang in a low voice,--"My motheris dead, my mother is dead, my mother is dead." On being pressed againby the landlady, the yellow man, the "millionnaire," consented to takesome supper.
"What will you have, sir?"
"Bread and cheese."
"He is certainly a beggar," the landlady thought. The drunkards werestill singing their song, and the child, under the table, still sanghers. All at once Cosette broke off: she turned, and perceived, lyingon the ground a few paces from the kitchen table, the doll whichthe children had thrown down on taking up the kitten. She let thewrapped-up sword, which only half satisfied her, fall, and then slowlylooked round the room. The landlady was whispering to her husban
d andreckoning some change, Éponine and Azelma were playing with the kitten;the guests were eating, drinking, or singing, and no one noticed her.She had not a moment to lose, so she crept on her hands and knees fromunder the table, assured herself once again that she was not watched,and seized the doll. A moment after she was back in her seat, andturned so that the doll which she held in her arms should be in theshadow. The happiness of playing with this doll was almost too muchfor her. No one had seen her, excepting the traveller, who was slowlyeating his poor supper. This joy lasted nearly a quarter of an hour.
But in spite of the caution which Cosette took, she did not noticethat one of the doll's feet was peeping out, and that the fire lit itup very distinctly. This pink luminous foot emerging from the glowsuddenly caught the eye of Azelma, who said to Éponine, "Look, sister!"
The two little girls were stupefied. Cosette had dared to take theirdoll! Éponine rose, and without letting the cat go, ran to her motherand plucked the skirt of her dress.
"Let me be," said the mother; "what do you want now?"
"Mother," said the girl, "just look!"
And she pointed to Cosette, who, yielding entirely to the ecstasy ofpossession, saw and heard nothing more. The landlady's face assumedthat peculiar expression which is composed of the terrible blended withthe trifles of life, and which has caused such women to be christenedMegæras. This time wounded pride exasperated her wrath: Cosette hadleaped over all bounds, and had made an assault on the young ladies'doll. A czarina who saw a moujik trying on her Imperial son's blueribbon would not have a different face. She cried in a voice whichindignation rendered hoarse,--"Cosette!"
Cosette started as if the earth had trembled beneath her, and turnedround.
"Cosette!" her mistress repeated.
Cosette gently laid the doll on the ground with a species of venerationmingled with despair; then, without taking her eyes off it, she claspedher hands, and, frightful to say of a child of her age, wrung them, andthen burst into tears, a thing which none of the emotions of the dayhad caused,--neither the walk in the wood, the weight of the bucket,the loss of the coin, the sight of the lash, nor the harsh remarks ofher mistress. The traveller had risen from his chair. "What is thematter?" he asked the landlady.
"Don't you see?" she replied, pointing to the _corpus delicti_ whichlay at Cosette's feet.
"Well, what?" the man continued.
"That wretch," the landlady answered, "has had the audacity to touch mychildren's doll!"
"So much noise about that!" the man said. "Well, suppose that she didplay with the doll!"
"She has touched it with her dirty hands," the landladycontinued,--"her frightful hands."
Here Cosette redoubled her sobs.
"Will you be quiet?" her mistress yelled.
The man went straight to the street door, opened it, and walked out;the landlady took advantage of his absence to give Cosette a kick underthe table, which made her scream. The door opened again, and the manreappeared, carrying in his hands the fabulous doll to which we havealluded, and which all the village children had been contemplatingsince the morning. He placed it on its legs before Cosette, saying,--
"Here, this is for you."
We must suppose that, during the hour he had been sitting in a reverie,he had confusedly noticed the toyman's shop, which was so brilliantlylit with lamps and candles that it could be seen through the tap-roomwindow like an illumination. Cosette raised her eyes: she had lookedat the man coming toward her with the doll, as if he were the sun;she heard the extraordinary words "This is for you;" she looked athim, looked at the doll, then drew back slowly, and concealed herselfentirely in a corner under the table. She did not cry, she did notspeak, but looked as if she dared hardly breathe. The landlady,Éponine, and Azelma were so many statues: the topers themselves hadstopped drinking, and there was a solemn silence in the tap-room. Themother, petrified and dumb, began her conjectures again. "Who is thisman? Is he poor, or a millionnaire? He is, perhaps, both; that is tosay, a thief." The husband's face offered that expressive wrinkle whichmarks the human face each time that the ruling instinct appears on itwith all its bestial power. The landlord looked in turn at the doll andthe traveller: he seemed to be sniffing round the man, as he would havedone round a money-bag. This only lasted for a second; then he went upto his wife and whispered:
"That machine costs at least thirty francs. No nonsense; crawl in thedust before the man."
Coarse natures have this in common with simple natures, that they haveno transitions.
"Well, Cosette," the landlady said, in a voice which strove to begentle, and which was composed of the bitter honey of wicked women,"why don't you take your doll?"
Cosette ventured to crawl out of her hole.
"My little Cosette," her mistress continued fawningly, "this gentlemangives you the doll; so take it, for it is yours."
Cosette gazed at the wonderful doll with a sort of terror; her face wasstill bathed in tears, but her eyes were beginning to fill, like thesky at dawn, with strange rays of joy. What she felt at this moment wassomething like what she would have felt had some one suddenly said toher, "Little girl, you are Queen of France."
It seemed to her that if she touched this doll thunder would issue fromit; and this was true to a certain point, for she said to herself thather mistress would scold and beat her. Still, the attraction gained thevictory; she at length crawled up to the doll and murmured timidly asshe turned to the landlady,--
"May I, Madame?"
No expression could render this air, which was at once despairing,terrified, and ravished.
"Of course," said her mistress, "since this gentleman gives it to you."
"Is it true, sir?" Cosette continued. "Is the lady really mine?"
The stranger's eyes were full of tears, and he seemed to have reachedthat point of emotion when a man does not speak in order that he maynot weep. He nodded to Cosette, and placed the "lady's" little hand inhers. Cosette quickly drew back her hand as if the lady's burned her,and looked down at the brick floor. We are compelled to add that atthis moment she put her tongue out to an enormous length; all at onceshe turned and passionately seized the doll.
"I will call her Catherine," she said.
It was a strange sight when Cosette's rags met and held the doll'sribbons and fresh muslins.
"May I put her in a chair, Madame?" she continued.
"Yes, my child," her mistress answered.
It was now the turn of Éponine and Azelma to look enviously at Cosette.She placed Catherine in a chair, and then sat down on the ground beforeher, motionless, without saying a word, and in a contemplative attitude.
"Play, Cosette," the stranger said.
"Oh, I am playing!" the child answered.
This unknown man, this stranger who had the air of a visitor sentby Providence to Cosette, was at the moment the person whom MadameThénardier hated most in the world; still, she must put a constrainton herself. This emotion was more than she could endure, accustomed todissimulation though she was by the copy which she had to take of herhusband in all his actions. She hastened to send her children to bed,and then asked the yellow man's leave to send off Cosette, "who hadbeen very tired during the day," she added with a maternal air. Cosettewent off to bed carrying Catherine in her arms. The landlady went fromtime to time to the other end of the room, where her husband was, inorder to relieve her mind. She exchanged with him a few sentences,which were the more furious because she dared not utter them aloud.
"Old ass! what has he got in his noddle to come and disturb us in thisway; to wish that little monster to play; to give her dolls,--dollsworth forty francs, to a wretch whom I would gladly sell for fortysous? A little more, and he would call her 'Your Majesty,' like theDuchesse de Berry. Can he be in his senses? The mysterious old fellowmust be cracked!"
"Why so? It is very simple," Thénardier replied. "Suppose it amuseshim? It amuses you that the little one should work; it amuses him tosee her play. He has a right, for a tr
aveller can do as he likes solong as he pays. If this old man is a philanthropist, how does itconcern you? If he is an ass, it is no business of yours. Why do youinterfere, so long as he has money?"
This was the language of a master and the reasoning of a landlord,neither of which admitted a reply.
The man was resting his elbow on the table, and had resumed histhoughtful attitude; the other travellers, pedlers, and carriers hadgone away or left off singing. They regarded him from a distance witha sort of respectful fear; this poorly-clad individual, who drewhind-wheels from his pocket with such ease and lavished gigantic dollson ragged girls, was assuredly a magnificent and formidable man.Several hours passed, midnight mass was finished, the matin bell hadbeen rung, the drinkers had gone away, the pot-house was closed, thefire was out in the tap-room, but the stranger still remained at thesame spot and in the same posture. From time to time he changed theelbow on which he was leaning, that was all; but he had not uttered asyllable since Cosette went off to bed. The Thénardiers alone remainedin the room, through politeness and curiosity.
"Is he going to pass the night like that?" the landlady pouted. When itstruck two, she declared herself conquered, and said to her husband, "Iam off to bed; you can do as you like." The husband sat down at a tablein a corner, lit a candle, and began reading the _Courrier Français._ Agood hour passed, during which the worthy host read the paper throughthrice from the date of the number to the imprint, but the stranger didnot stir. Thénardier moved, coughed, spat, and made his chair creak,but the man made no movement. "Can he be asleep?" Thénardier thought.The man was not asleep, but no movement aroused him. At length thelandlord doffed his cap, walked up gently, and ventured to say,--
"Do you not wish to repose, sir?"
"To sleep" would have appeared to him excessive and familiar, while"repose" hinted at luxury, and was respectful. Such words have themysterious and admirable quality of swelling the bill on the nextmorning: a room in which you sleep costs twenty sous; one in which yourepose costs twenty francs.
"Why, you are right," said the stranger; "where is your stable?"
"I will show you the way, sir," Thénardier replied with a smile.
He took the candle; the man fetched his stick and bundle, andThénardier led him to a room on the first floor, which was mostluxurious, with its mahogany furniture, and the bed with its red cottoncurtains.
"What is this?" the traveller asked.
"Our own wedding bed-room," the landlord replied; "my wife and I occupyanother, and this room is only entered three or four times a year."
"I should have preferred the stable," the man said roughly. Thénardierpretended not to hear this disagreeable reflection, but lit two new waxcandles standing on the mantel-piece. A rather large fire was flashingin the grate. Upon the mantel-piece was also a woman's head-dress, madeof silver tissue and orange-flowers, under a glass shade.
"And what is this?" the stranger continued.
"That, sir," Thénardier said, "is my wife's wedding bonnet."
The traveller looked at the object in a way that seemed to say,--"Thenthere was a moment when this monster was a virgin."
This was a falsehood of Thénardier's. When he hired the house toconvert it into a public, he found this room thus furnished, andbought the lot, thinking that it would cast a graceful shadow over his"spouse," and that his house would derive from it what the Englishcall respectability. When the traveller turned round, Thénardier haddisappeared, without saying good-evening, as he did not wish to treatwith disrespectful cordiality a man whom he intended to flay royallythe next morning. The landlord went to his room, where his wife was inbed, but not asleep. So soon as she heard her husband's footstep, shesaid to him,--
"You know that I mean to turn Cosette out to-morrow?" Thénardier coldlyanswered,--
"How you go on!"
They exchanged no more words, and a few minutes after the candle wasextinguished. For his part, the stranger had placed his stick andbundle in a corner. When the landlord had withdrawn, he sat down in aneasy-chair and remained thoughtful for a time; then he took off hisshoes, seized one of the candlesticks, and left the room, looking abouthim as if in search of something. He went along a passage and reachedthe staircase; here he heard a very gentle sound, like the breathingof a child. He followed this sound, and reached a triangular closetunder the stairs, or, to speak more correctly, formed by the stairsthemselves. Here, among old hampers and potsherds, in dust and cobwebs,there was a bed, if we may apply the term to a paillasse so rotten asto show the straw, and a blanket so torn as to show the mattress. Therewere no sheets, and all this lay on the ground; in this bed Cosettewas sleeping. The man walked up and gazed at her. Cosette was fastasleep and had all her clothes on; in winter she did not undress, thatshe might be less cold. She was holding to her bosom the doll, whoselarge open eyes glistened in the darkness; from time to time shegave a heavy sigh, as if about to awake, and pressed the doll almostconvulsively in her arms. There was nothing by her bed-side but one ofher wooden shoes. Through an open door close by a large dark room couldbe seen, through which the stranger entered. At the end, two littlewhite beds, belonging to Éponine and Azelma, were visible through aglass door. Behind this a wicker curtainless cradle was half hidden, inwhich slept the little boy who had been crying all the evening.
The stranger conjectured that this room communicated with that ofthe Thénardiers. He was about to return, when his eye fell on thechimney,--one of those vast inn chimneys, in which there is always solittle fire when there is a frost, and which are so cold to look at. Inthis chimney there was no fire, not even ashes; but what there was init attracted the travellers attention. He saw two little child's shoesof coquettish shape and unequal size; and the traveller recollectedthe graceful and immemorial custom of children who place their shoein the chimney on Christmas night, in order to obtain some glitteringpresent from their good fairy in the darkness. Éponine and Azelma hadnot failed in this observance. The traveller bent down; the fairy,that is, the mother, had already paid her visit, and in each shoe ahandsome ten-sou piece could be seen shining. The man rose and wasgoing away, when he observed another object in the darkest corner ofthe hearth; he looked at it, and recognized a hideous wooden shoe, halfbroken and covered with ashes and dried mud. It was Cosette's; with thetouching confidence of children who may be disappointed, but are neverdiscouraged, she had also placed her shoe in the chimney. Hope in achild that has never known aught but despair is a sublime and affectingthing. There was nothing in this shoe; but the stranger felt in hispocket and laid a louis d'or in it; then he crept noiselessly back tohis bed-room.
