“By the way, do you wish supper?” said she to the stranger.
He did not reply. He seemed to be thinking deeply.
“What sort of man is this?” she said between her teeth. “He is humbly poor. He has not a cent for supper. I hope he will pay me for his lodging.”
Just then a door opened and Eponine and Azelma came in.
They were really two pretty and charming little girls, one with golden-brown curls, the other with long black braids falling down her back. When they entered, their mother said in a scolding tone which nevertheless was full of adoration: “Ah! here you are, you two!” Then drawing them on her lap one after the other, smoothing their hair, tying their ribbons, she at last gave each a little love pat, saying, “Aren’t they well dressed now?”
They went and sat down near the corner of the chimney. They had a doll which they turned and turned again on their knees with all sorts of happy prattling. From time to time Cosette raised her eyes from her knitting and looked at them sadly.
The doll of the two sisters was very faded, and quite old and broken, but it did not seem any the less lovely to Cosette who, in all her life, had never owned a doll, a real doll, to use a term that all children will understand.
Suddenly the woman, who was passing back and forth in the room, noticed that Cosette was distracted and that instead of working she was interested in the little ones who were playing.
“Ah! I have caught you!” cried she. “That’s how you work!”
The stranger, without leaving his chair, turned to the woman. “Madame,” said he, smiling almost timidly, “let the little one play a bit.”