Cosette crept under the table again.
“In truth, that is fair!” said Madame Thénardier, “if the beast has not been watered, it must be.”
Then glancing about her:—
“Well, now! Where’s that other beast?”
She bent down and discovered Cosette cowering at the other end of the table, almost under the drinkers’ feet.
“Are you coming?” shrieked Madame Thénardier.
Cosette crawled out of the sort of hole in which she had hidden herself. The Thénardier resumed:—
“Mademoiselle Dog-lack-name, go and water that horse.”
“But, Madame,” said Cosette, feebly, “there is no water.”
The Thénardier threw the street door wide open:—
“Well, go and get some, then!”
Cosette dropped her head, and went for an empty bucket which stood near the chimney-corner.
This bucket was bigger than she was, and the child could have set down in it at her ease.
The Thénardier returned to her stove, and tasted what was in the stewpan, with a wooden spoon, grumbling the while:—
“There’s plenty in the spring. There never was such a malicious creature as that. I think I should have done better to strain my onions.”