M. Leblanc looked him full in the face, and replied:⁠—

“No.”

Then Jondrette advanced to the table. He leaned across the candle, crossing his arms, putting his angular and ferocious jaw close to M. Leblanc’s calm face, and advancing as far as possible without forcing M. Leblanc to retreat, and, in this posture of a wild beast who is about to bite, he exclaimed:⁠—

“My name is not Fabantou, my name is not Jondrette, my name is Thénardier. I am the innkeeper of Montfermeil! Do you understand? Thénardier! Now do you know me?”

An almost imperceptible flush crossed M. Leblanc’s brow, and he replied with a voice which neither trembled nor rose above its ordinary level, with his accustomed placidity:⁠—