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the water which stood before her; such was the fright which
the Thenardier inspired in her, that she dared not flee with-
out that bucket of water: she seized the handle with both
hands; she could hardly lift the pail.
In this manner she advanced a dozen paces, but the
bucket was full; it was heavy; she was forced to set it on
the ground once more. She took breath for an instant, then
lifted the handle of the bucket again, and resumed her
march, proceeding a little further this time, but again she
was obliged to pause. After some seconds of repose she set
out again. She walked bent forward, with drooping head,
like an old woman; the weight of the bucket strained and
stiffened her thin arms. The iron handle completed the be-
numbing and freezing of her wet and tiny hands; she was
forced to halt from time to time, and each time that she did
so, the cold water which splashed from the pail fell on her
bare legs. This took place in the depths of a forest, at night,
in winter, far from all human sight; she was a child of eight:
no one but God saw that sad thing at the moment.
And her mother, no doubt, alas!
For there are things that make the dead open their eyes
in their graves.
She panted with a sort of painful rattle; sobs contracted
her throat, but she dared not weep, so afraid was she of the
Thenardier, even at a distance: it was her custom to imagine
the Thenardier always present.
However, she could not make much headway in that
manner, and she went on very slowly. In spite of dimin-
ishing the length of her stops, and of walking as long as