She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. “It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. I do not command the services of a person who will not tell me why he offers them.
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