Coarse natures have this in common with simple natures, that they have no transitions.
"Well, Cosette," the landlady said, in a voice which strove to be gentle, and which was composed of the bitter honey of wicked women, "why don't you take your doll?"
Cosette ventured to crawl out of her hole.
"My little Cosette," her mistress continued fawningly, "this gentleman gives you the doll; so take it, for it is yours."
Cosette gazed at the wonderful doll with a sort of terror; her face was still bathed in tears, but her eyes were beginning to fill, like the sky at dawn, with strange rays of joy. What she felt at this moment was something like what she would have felt had some one suddenly said to her, "Little girl, you are Queen of France."
It seemed to her that if she touched this doll thunder would issue from it; and this was true to a certain point, for she said to herself that her mistress would scold and beat her. Still, the attraction gained the victory; she at length crawled up to the doll and murmured timidly as she turned to the landlady,—
"May I, Madame?"
No expression could render this air, which was at once despairing, terrified, and ravished.
"Of course," said her mistress, "since this gentleman gives it to you."
"Is it true, sir?" Cosette continued. "Is the lady really mine?"