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‘Bah!’
And she began to hum these words to a gay air:—“J’ai faim, mon pere.’ I am hungry, father.
Pas de fricot. I have no food.
J’ai froid, ma mere. I am cold, mother.
Pas de tricot. I have no clothes.
Grelotte, Lolotte!
Lolotte! Shiver,
Sanglote, Sob,
Jacquot!’ Jacquot!’She had hardly finished this couplet, when she
exexclaimed:—
‘Do you ever go to the play, Monsieur Marius? I do. I have
a little brother who is a friend of the artists, and who gives
me tickets sometimes. But I don’t like the benches in the
galleries. One is cramped and uncomfortable there. There
are rough people there sometimes; and people who smell
bad.’
Then she scrutinized Marius, assumed a singular air and
said:—
‘Do you know, Mr. Marius, that you are a very handsome
fellow?’
And at the same moment the same idea occurred to
them both, and made her smile and him blush. She stepped
up to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder: ‘You pay no
heed to me, but I know you, Mr. Marius. I meet you here
on the staircase, and then I often see you going to a person