She had to explain about and pay off that forty pounds. It was the incendiary intellectuals of the bourgeoisie, with their militant ideas of revolution, who had raised the populace to a pitch of violence resulting in cases of wholesale slaughter—such as had overtaken the Valades. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. That’s really what I want to discuss. She wanted to be alone. 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. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing.
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