Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. She always dawdled, so it was easy. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. No idea that you were here, though. The tapstress was full of curiosity; but she appeared more easy than the others. “We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed.
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