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more and more clearly from the mist, and its light, mingled
with the white reflection of the snow which had fallen, com-
municated to the chamber a sort of twilight aspect.
There was a light in the Jondrette den. Marius saw the
hole in the wall shining with a reddish glow which seemed
bloody to him.
It was true that the light could not be produced by a
candle. However, there was not a sound in the Jondrette
quarters, not a soul was moving there, not a soul speak-
ing, not a breath; the silence was glacial and profound, and
had it not been for that light, he might have thought himself
next door to a sepulchre.
Marius softly removed his boots and pushed them under
his bed.
Several minutes elapsed. Marius heard the lower door
turn on its hinges; a heavy step mounted the staircase, and
hastened along the corridor; the latch of the hovel was nois-
ily lifted; it was Jondrette returning.
Instantly, several voices arose. The whole family was in
the garret. Only, it had been silent in the master’s absence,
like wolf whelps in the absence of the wolf.
‘It’s I,’ said he.
‘Good evening, daddy,’ yelped the girls.
‘Well?’ said the mother.
‘All’s going first-rate,’ responded Jondrette, ‘but my feet
are beastly cold. Good! You have dressed up. You have done
well! You must inspire confidence.’
‘All ready to go out.’
‘Don’t forget what I told you. You will do everything