I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. "A miserly old woman. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals.
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