“You certainly got him in the bag. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. ” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. They troubled no one, and as long as they did not noise themselves abroad and make a nuisance of themselves in this Protestant country, no one troubled them. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. " "Did I ask for it?" "Yes.
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