“Yes, sir,” said the child; “it cuts salad and the heads of flies.”

They reached the village. Cosette guided the stranger through the streets. They passed the bakeshop, but Cosette did not think of the bread which she had been ordered to fetch. The man had ceased to ply her with questions, and now preserved a gloomy silence.

When they had left the church behind them, the man, on perceiving all the open-air booths, asked Cosette:⁠—

“So there is a fair going on here?”

“No, sir; it is Christmas.”

As they approached the tavern, Cosette timidly touched his arm:⁠—

“Monsieur?”

“What, my child?”

“We are quite near the house.”