LITMIR.BIZ

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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 heard anything.

      Madame Thénardier’s countenance assumed that peculiar expression which is composed of the terrible mingled with the trifles of life, and which has 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 on the doll belonging to “these young ladies.” A czarina who should see a muzhik trying on her imperial son’s blue ribbon would wear no other face.

      She shrieked in a voice rendered hoarse with indignation:—

      “Cosette!”

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

      “Cosette!” repeated the Thénardier.

      Cosette took the doll and laid it gently on the floor with a sort of veneration, mingled with despair; then, without taking her eyes from it, she clasped her hands, and, what is terrible to relate of a child of 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 sad words which she had heard Madame Thénardier utter had been able to wring this 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 touch the children’s doll!”

      “All this noise for that!” said the man; “well, what if she did play with that doll?”

      “She touched it with her dirty hands!” pursued the Thénardier, “with her frightful 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 give Cosette a hearty kick under the table, which made the child utter loud cries.

      The door opened again, the man reappeared; he carried in both hands the fabulous doll which we have mentioned, and which all the village brats had been staring at ever since the morning, and he set it upright in front of Cosette, saying:—

      “Here; this is for you.”

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

      Cosette raised her eyes; she gazed at the man approaching her with that doll as she might have gazed at the sun; she heard the unprecedented words, “It is for you”; she stared at him; she stared at the doll; then she slowly retreated, and hid herself at the extreme end, under the table in a corner of the wall.

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

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

      Madame Thénardier, petrified and mute, recommenced her conjectures: “Who is that old fellow? Is he a poor man? Is he a millionaire? Perhaps he is both; that is to say, a thief.”

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

      “That machine costs at least thirty francs. No nonsense. Down on your belly before that man!”

      Gross natures have this in common with naïve natures, that they possess no transition state.

      “Well, Cosette,” said the Thénardier, in a voice that strove to be sweet, 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,” said Thénardier, with a caressing air. “Take it; it is yours.”

      Cosette gazed at the marvellous doll in a sort of terror. Her face was still flooded with tears, but her eyes began to fill, like the sky at daybreak, with strange beams of joy. What she felt at that moment was a 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 dart from it.

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

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

      “May I, Madame?”

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

      “Pardi!” cried the Thénardier, “it is yours. The gentleman has given it to 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 have reached that point of emotion where a man does not speak for fear lest he should weep. He nodded to Cosette, and placed the “lady’s” hand in her tiny hand.

      Cosette hastily withdrew her hand, as though that of the “lady” scorched her, and began to stare at the floor. We are forced to add that at that moment she stuck out her tongue immoderately. All at once she wheeled round 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 and fresh 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 floor in front of her, and remained motionless, without uttering a word, in an attitude 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 which Providence was making on Cosette, was the person whom the Thénardier hated worse than any one in the world at that moment. However, it was necessary to control herself. Habituated as she was to dissimulation through endeavoring to copy her husband in all his actions, these emotions were more than she could endure. She made haste to send her daughters to bed, then she asked the man’s permission to send Cosette off also; “for she has worked hard all day,” she added with a maternal air. Cosette went

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