“Who are Ponine and Zelma?”
“They are Madame Thénardier’s little girls.”
“And what do they do, these little ones?”
“Oh,” said the child, “they have pretty dolls. They play and amuse themselves.”
“And you?”
“I? I work.”
“All day long?”
The child raised her large eyes full of tears, that were hidden by the night, and answered softly, “Yes, sir.”
Then she went on after a moment of silence, “Sometimes, when I have done my work, and they are willing, I play a little.”
“What do you play?”