Chapter Vii—strategy And Tactics

Marius, with a load upon his breast, was on the point of descending from the species of observatory which he had improvised, when a sound attracted his attention and caused him to remain at his post.

The door of the attic had just burst open abruptly. The eldest girl made her appearance on the threshold. On her feet, she had large, coarse, men’s shoes, bespattered with mud, which had splashed even to her red ankles, and she was wrapped in an old mantle which hung in tatters. Marius had not seen it on her an hour previously, but she had probably deposited it at his door, in order that she might inspire the more pity, and had picked it up again on emerging. She entered, pushed the door to behind her, paused to take breath, for she was completely breathless, then exclaimed with an expression of triumph and joy:—

“He is coming!”

“Who?” demanded her father.

“The gentleman!”

“The philanthropist?”

“Yes.”

“From the church of Saint-Jacques?”

“Yes.”

“That old fellow?”

“Yes.”

“And he is coming?”

“He is following me.”

“You are sure?”

“I am sure.”

“There, truly, he is coming?”

“He is coming in a fiacre.”

“In a fiacre. He is Rothschild.”

The father rose.