She set about arranging the table; her husband paced the room. A moment later he added:—
“I owe full fifteen hundred francs!”
He went and seated himself in the chimney-corner, meditating, with his feet among the warm ashes.
“Ah! by the way,” resumed his wife, “you don’t forget that I’m going to turn Cosette out of doors today? The monster! She breaks my heart with that doll of hers! I’d rather marry Louis XVIII than keep her another day in the house!”
Thénardier lighted his pipe, and replied between two puffs:—
“You will hand that bill to the man.”
Then he went out.
Hardly had he left the room when the traveller entered.
Thénardier instantly reappeared behind him and remained motionless in the half-open door, visible only to his wife.
The yellow man carried his bundle and his cudgel in his hand.
“Up so early?” said Madame Thénardier; “is Monsieur leaving us already?”
As she spoke thus, she was twisting the bill about in her hands with an embarrassed air, and making creases in it with her nails. Her hard face presented a shade which was not habitual with it—timidity and scruples.
To present such a bill to a man who had so completely the air “of a poor wretch” seemed difficult to her.