"Have you been in his room?" the lather asked.
"No," the girl replied; "but as his key is in his door he has gone out"
The father shouted,—
"Go in, all the same."
The door opened, and Marius saw the girl come in, candle in hand. She was the same as in the morning, save that she was even more fearful in this light. She walked straight up to the bed, and Marius suffered a moment of intense anxiety; but there was a looking-glass hanging from a nail by the bedside, and it was to that she proceeded. She stood on tip-toe and looked at herself; a noise of iron being moved could be heard in the other room. She smoothed her hair with her hand, and smiled in the glass while singing, in her cracked and sepulchral voice,—
"Nos amours out duré toute une semaine,
Mais que du bonheur les instants sont courts,
S'adorer huit jours c'était bien la peine!
Le temps des amours devrait durer toujours!
Devrait durer toujours! devrait durer toujours."
Still Marius trembled, for he thought that she could not help hearing his breathing. She walked to the window and looked out, while saying aloud with the half-crazy look she had,—
"How ugly Paris is when it has put on a white sheet!"
She returned to the glass, and began taking a fresh look at herself, first full face and then three-quarters.
"Well," asked the father, "what are you doing there?"