“It is he.”

And turning to Marius:⁠—

“My brother is here. He must not see me. He would scold me.”

“Your brother?” inquired Marius, who was meditating in the most bitter and sorrowful depths of his heart on the duties to the Thénardiers which his father had bequeathed to him; “who is your brother?”

“That little fellow.”

“The one who is singing?”

“Yes.”

Marius made a movement.

“Oh! don’t go away,” said she, “it will not be long now.”