112 Les Miserables
The fine hostelry was closed to him; he was seeking some
very humble public house, some hovel, however lowly.
Just then a light flashed up at the end of the streets; a pine
branch suspended from a cross-beam of iron was outlined
against the white sky of the twilight. He proceeded thither.
It proved to be, in fact, a public house. The public house
which is in the Rue de Chaffaut.
The wayfarer halted for a moment, and peeped through
the window into the interior of the low-studded room of the
public house, illuminated by a small lamp on a table and by
a large fire on the hearth. Some men were engaged in drink-
ing there. The landlord was warming himself. An iron pot,
suspended from a crane, bubbled over the flame.
The entrance to this public house, which is also a sort of
an inn, is by two doors. One opens on the street, the other
upon a small yard filled with manure. The traveller dare not
enter by the street door. He slipped into the yard, halted
again, then raised the latch timidly and opened the door.
‘Who goes there?’ said the master.
‘Some one who wants supper and bed.’
‘Good. We furnish supper and bed here.’
He entered. All the men who were drinking turned
round. The lamp illuminated him on one side, the firelight
on the other. They examined him for some time while he
was taking off his knapsack.
The host said to him, ‘There is the fire. The supper is
cooking in the pot. Come and warm yourself, comrade.’
He approached and seated himself near the hearth. He
stretched out his feet, which were exhausted with fatigue,