13 4 2 Les Miserables
This man wore a violet knitted vest, which was old, worn,
spotted, cut and gaping at every fold, wide trousers of cotton
velvet, wooden shoes on his feet, no shirt, had his neck bare,
his bare arms tattooed, and his face smeared with black. He
had seated himself in silence on the nearest bed, and, as he
was behind Jondrette, he could only be indistinctly seen.
That sort of magnetic instinct which turns aside the
gaze, caused M. Leblanc to turn round almost at the same
moment as Marius. He could not refrain from a gesture of
surprise which did not escape Jondrette.
‘Ah! I see!’ exclaimed Jondrette, buttoning up his coat
with an air of complaisance, ‘you are looking at your over-
coat? It fits me! My faith, but it fits me!’
‘Who is that man?’ said M. Leblanc.
‘Him?’ ejaculated Jondrette, ‘he’s a neighbor of mine.
Don’t pay any attention to him.’
The neighbor was a singular-looking individual. How-
ever, manufactories of chemical products abound in the
Faubourg Saint-Marceau. Many of the workmen might have
black faces. Besides this, M. Leblanc’s whole person was ex-
pressive of candid and intrepid confidence.
He went on:—
‘Excuse me; what were you saying, M. Fabantou?’
‘I was telling you, sir, and dear protector,’ replied Jon-
drette placing his elbows on the table and contemplating M.
Leblanc with steady and tender eyes, not unlike the eyes of
the boa-constrictor, ‘I was telling you, that I have a picture
to sell.’
A slight sound came from the door. A second man had