[CHAPTER IX.]
THÉNARDIER AT WORK.
The next morning, almost two hours before daybreak, Thénardier was seated, pen in hand, at a table in the tap-room, and making out the bill of the yellow-coated traveller. His wife, standing behind him, was watching him; they did not exchange a syllable; on one side there was a profound meditation, on the other that profound admiration with which people watch a marvel of the human mind expanding. A noise could be heard in the house; it was the Lark sweeping the stairs. At the end of a quarter of an hour and some erasures, Thénardier produced this masterpiece,—
"THE GENT IN NO. 1.
Supper.... 3 francs.
Bed....... 10 "
Candles... 5 "
Fire...... 4 "
Service... 1 "
__
Total 23 francs."
Service was written serviss.
"Twenty-three francs!" the wife exclaimed, with an admiration mingled with some hesitation.
Like all great artists, Thénardier was not satisfied, and said, "Pooh!" It was the accent of Castlereagh drawing up the little bill for France to pay at the Congress of Vienna.
"Monsieur Thénardier, you are right; he certainly owes it," the wife muttered, thinking of the doll given to Cosette in the presence of her children: "it is fair, but it is too much; he will not pay it."
Thénardier gave his cold laugh, and said, "He will pay it!"