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‘What is it?’ he asked, ‘who is there?’
It was the Jondrette girl.
‘Is it you?’ resumed Marius almost harshly, ‘still you!
What do you want with me?’
She appeared to be thoughtful and did not look at him.
She no longer had the air of assurance which had charac-
terized her that morning. She did not enter, but held back
in the darkness of the corridor, where Marius could see her
through the half-open door.
‘Come now, will you answer?’ cried Marius. ‘What do
you want with me?’
She raised her dull eyes, in which a sort of gleam seemed
to flicker vaguely, and said:—
‘Monsieur Marius, you look sad. What is the matter with
you?’
‘With me!’ said Marius.
‘Yes, you.’
‘There is nothing the matter with me.’
‘Yes, there is!’
‘No.’
‘I tell you there is!’
‘Let me alone!’
Marius gave the door another push, but she retained her
hold on it.
‘Stop,’ said she, ‘you are in the wrong. Although you are
not rich, you were kind this morning. Be so again now. You
gave me something to eat, now tell me what ails you. You are
grieved, that is plain. I do not want you to be grieved. What
can be done for it? Can I be of any service? Employ me. I do