She replied sharply: “She must work if she wants to eat. I don’t feed her to do nothing.”
“What is she making then?” said the stranger, with the soft voice which was such a contrast to his shabby clothes, and his big, broad shoulders.
“Stockings, if you please, stockings for my little girls, who have none and who will soon be barefooted.”
The man looked at Cosette’s poor little red feet and went on: “When will she finish this pair of stockings?”
“She will take three or four days more, the idle thing.”
“And how much will they be worth when they are done?”
The woman looked at him with scorn.
“At least thirty sous,” she said.
“Would you sell them for five francs?” said the man.
“Mercy on us!” cried out, with a hoarse laugh, one of the guests who was listening. “Five francs? You bet your life! Five francs!”