"It is settled." "You really will take her away at once?" "At once. Call her." "Cosette!" the landlady shouted. "In the mean while," the man continued, "I will pay my score. How much is it?" He took a glance at the bill, and could not restrain a start of surprise. Twenty-three francs! He looked at the landlady and repeated, "Twenty-three francs?" There was in his pronunciation of the two words the accent which separates the point of exclamation from the point of interrogation. Madame Thénardier had had time to prepare for the collision, and hence answered with assurance,-- "Yes, sir, twenty-three francs." The stranger laid five five-franc pieces on the table. "Go and fetch the girl," he said. At this moment Thénardier walked into the middle of the room and said,-- "The gentleman owes twenty-six sous." "Twenty-six sous!" the wife exclaimed. "Twenty sous for the bed-room," Thénardier continued coldly, "and six for the supper. As for the girl, I must talk a little with the gentleman first. Leave us, wife." The landlady had one of those bedazzlements which unforeseen flashes of talent produced; she felt that the great actor had come on the stage, made no answer, and went out. So soon as they were alone Thénardier offered the traveller a chair. He sat down; Thénardier remained standing, and his face assumed a singular expression of kindliness and simplicity. "I must tell you," he said, "sir, that I adore the child." The stranger looked at him fixedly. "What child?" Thénardier continued,-- "How strange it is, but you grow attached to them. What is the meaning of all that money? Put it back in your pocket; I adore the child." "What child?" the stranger asked. "Why, our little Cosette! Don't you wish to take her from us? Well, I speak frankly, and as true as you are an honest man, I cannot consent. I should miss the child, for I have known her since she was a baby: it is true that she costs us money, that she has her faults, that we are not rich, and that I paid more than upwards of four hundred francs for medicines alone in one of her illnesses. She has neither father nor mother, and I brought her up; and I have bread both for her and for me. Look you, I am fond of the child; affection grows on you; I am a good foolish fellow, and don't reason; I love the girl, and though my wife is quick, she loves her too. She is like our own child, and I want to hear her prattle in the house." The stranger still looked at him fixedly, as he continued,--