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‘And would you like to have me tell you something? The
young lady—‘
‘Well, what?’ retorted his wife, ‘the young lady?’
Marius could not doubt that it was really she of whom
they were speaking. He listened with ardent anxiety. His
whole life was in his ears.
But Jondrette had bent over and spoke to his wife in a
whisper. Then he straightened himself up and concluded
aloud:—
‘It is she!’
‘That one?’ said his wife.
‘That very one,’ said the husband.
No expression can reproduce the significance of the
mother’s words. Surprise, rage, hate, wrath, were mingled
and combined in one monstrous intonation. The pronuncia-
tion of a few words, the name, no doubt, which her husband
had whispered in her ear, had sufficed to rouse this huge,
somnolent woman, and from being repulsive she became
terrible.
‘It is not possible!’ she cried. ‘When I think that my
daughters are going barefoot, and have not a gown to their
backs! What! A satin pelisse, a velvet bonnet, boots, and ev-
erything; more than two hundred francs’ worth of clothes!
so that one would think she was a lady! No, you are mistak-
en! Why, in the first place, the other was hideous, and this
one is not so bad-looking! She really is not bad-looking! It
can’t be she!’
‘I tell you that it is she. You will see.’
At this absolute assertion, the Jondrette woman raised