Madame Thénardier exchanged her coarse look for an amiable grimace,—a change peculiar to landladies,—and greedily turned her eyes on the new-comer.
"Is this the gentleman?" she said.
"Yes, Madame," the man answered, touching his hat.
Rich travellers are not so polite. This gesture and the inspection of the stranger's clothes and luggage, which the landlady took in at a glance, caused the amiable grimace to disappear and the rough look to return. She continued dryly,—
"Come in, my good man."
The "good man" entered; the landlady gave him a second look, carefully examined his threadbare coat and broken-brimmed hat, and consulted her husband, who was still drinking with the carter, by a toss of the head, a curl of her nose, and a wink. The husband answered with that imperceptible movement of the forefinger which, laid on the puffed-out lips, signifies, "No go!" Upon this the landlady exclaimed,—
"My good man, I am very sorry, but I haven't a bed-room disengaged."
"Put me where you like," the man said,—"in the loft or the stable. I will pay as if it were a bed-room."
"Forty sous."
"Be it so."