He lives near the Black Lion. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. It’s no good hiding it any more. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. “I like to think of your offer. Mrs. Winifred, you are deceived in me. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek.
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