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the face of a phantom. The walls had a leprous aspect, and
were covered with seams and scars, like a visage disfigured
by some horrible malady; a repulsive moisture exuded from
them. Obscene sketches roughly sketched with charcoal
could be distinguished upon them.
The chamber which Marius occupied had a dilapidated
brick pavement; this one was neither tiled nor planked; its
inhabitants stepped directly on the antique plaster of the
hovel, which had grown black under the long-continued
pressure of feet. Upon this uneven floor, where the dirt
seemed to be fairly incrusted, and which possessed but one
virginity, that of the broom, were capriciously grouped con-
stellations of old shoes, socks, and repulsive rags; however,
this room had a fireplace, so it was let for forty francs a year.
There was every sort of thing in that fireplace, a brazier, a
pot, broken boards, rags suspended from nails, a bird-cage,
ashes, and even a little fire. Two brands were smouldering
there in a melancholy way.
One thing which added still more to the horrors of this
garret was, that it was large. It had projections and angles
and black holes, the lower sides of roofs, bays, and prom-
ontories. Hence horrible, unfathomable nooks where it
seemed as though spiders as big as one’s fist, wood-lice as
large as one’s foot, and perhaps even—who knows?— some
monstrous human beings, must be hiding.
One of the pallets was near the door, the other near the
window. One end of each touched the fireplace and faced
Marius. In a corner near the aperture through which Mar-
ius was gazing, a colored engraving in a black frame was