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Gross natures have this in common with naive natures,
that they possess no transition state.
‘Well, Cosette,’ said the Thenardier, in a voice that strove
to be sweet, and which was composed of the bitter honey of
malicious women, ‘aren’t you going to take your doll?’
Cosette ventured to emerge from her hole.
‘The gentleman has given you a doll, my little Cosette,’
said Thenardier, with a caressing air. ‘Take it; it is yours.’
Cosette gazed at the marvellous doll in a sort of terror.
Her face was still flooded with tears, but her eyes began to
fill, like the sky at daybreak, with strange beams of joy. What
she felt at that moment was a little like what she would have
felt if she had been abruptly told, ‘Little one, you are the
Queen of France.’
It seemed to her that if she touched that doll, lightning
would dart from it.
This was true, up to a certain point, for she said to herself
that the Thenardier would scold and beat her.
Nevertheless, the attraction carried the day. She end-
ed by drawing near and murmuring timidly as she turned
towards Madame Thenardier:—
‘May I, Madame?’
No words can render that air, at once despairing, terri-
fied, and ecstatic.
‘Pardi!’ cried the Thenardier, ‘it is yours. The gentleman
has given it to you.’
‘Truly, sir?’ said Cosette. ‘Is it true? Is the ‘lady’ mine?’
The stranger’s eyes seemed to be full of tears. He ap-
peared to have reached that point of emotion where a man