The most heartbreaking thing of all was, that this young girl had not come into the world to be homely. In her early childhood she must even have been pretty. The grace of her age was still struggling against the hideous, premature decrepitude of debauchery and poverty. The remains of beauty were dying away in that face of sixteen, like the pale sunlight which is extinguished under hideous clouds at dawn on a winter’s day.

That face was not wholly unknown to Marius. He thought he remembered having seen it somewhere.

“What do you wish, Mademoiselle?” he asked.

The young girl replied in her voice of a drunken convict:⁠—

“Here is a letter for you, Monsieur Marius.”

She called Marius by his name; he could not doubt that he was the person whom she wanted; but who was this girl? How did she know his name?