Les Miserables

(やまだぃちぅ) #1

698 Les Miserables


was certainly a magnificent fellow, and one to be feared.
Many hours passed. The midnight mass was over, the
chimes had ceased, the drinkers had taken their departure,
the drinking-shop was closed, the public room was desert-
ed, the fire extinct, the stranger still remained in the same
place and the same attitude. From time to time he changed
the elbow on which he leaned. That was all; but he had not
said a word since Cosette had left the room.
The Thenardiers alone, out of politeness and curiosity,
had remained in the room.
‘Is he going to pass the night in that fashion?’ grumbled
the Thenardier. When two o’clock in the morning struck,
she declared herself vanquished, and said to her husband,
‘I’m going to bed. Do as you like.’ Her husband seated him-
self at a table in the corner, lighted a candle, and began to
read the Courrier Francais.
A good hour passed thus. The worthy inn-keeper had pe-
rused the Courrier Francais at least three times, from the
date of the number to the printer’s name. The stranger did
not stir.
Thenardier fidgeted, coughed, spit, blew his nose, and
creaked his chair. Not a movement on the man’s part. ‘Is he
asleep?’ thought Thenardier. The man was not asleep, but
nothing could arouse him.
At last Thenardier took off his cap, stepped gently up to
him, and ventured to say:—
‘Is not Monsieur going to his repose?’
Not going to bed would have seemed to him excessive
and familiar. To repose smacked of luxury and respect.
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