Fichier:Works of Victor Hugo (1864) (14596073070).jpg

Identifier: worksofvictorhug00hugo (find matches)
Title: Works of Victor Hugo
Year: 1864 (1860s)
Authors: Hugo, Victor, 1802-1885 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894, ed Marzials, Frank T. (Frank Thomas), Sir, 1840-1912
Subjects: Hugo, Victor, 1802-1885
Publisher: New York : National Library Co.
Contributing Library: Internet Archive
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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e saw a tall thingirl emerge from the shrubbery, and stand before him, star-ing at him boldly. She looked less like a human being thansome form just blossomed forth from the twilight. BeforeFather Mabceuf, who easily took alarm, and who, as we said,was a trifle terrified, could answer a syllable, this creature,whose movements had a sort of strange abruptness in thegloom, had unhooked the chain, let down and drawn up thebucket, and filled the watering-pot; and the old gentlemansaw this apparition, which was barefooted and wore a raggedskirt, running about among the flower-beds and distributinglife around her. The sound of the water pattering on theleaves filled M. MaboeuPs soul with ecstasy. The rhododen-dron now seemed to him to be happy. The first bucket emptied, the girl drew a second, then athird, and watered the whole garden. As she moved about the walks, where her outline appearedquite black, and as she waved her long thin arms and her Pi -4b i^i H^kw —L *-* CK33 Blftft^fairifc
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The first bucket emptied, the girl drew a second, then a third, andwatered the whole garden. Les Miserables. St. Denis: Page 56. ST. DEXIS 57 ragged shawl, she bore a striking resemblance to a bat. When she had finished, Father Mabceuf went up to her withtears in his eves, and laid his hand on her head. God will bless you, he said; you are an angel, sinceyou take care of flowers. No, she replied, I am the devil; but I dont care. The old man continued, without waiting for or hearing herreply. What a pity that I am so unhappy and so poor, and cando nothing for you! You can do something, she said. What? Tell me where Monsieur Marius lives. The old man did not understand. What Monsieur Marius? He raised his glassy eyes and seemed seeking somethingwhich had vanished. A young man who used to come here. Meantime M. Mabceuf had searched his memory. Oh, yes! he exclaimed; I know whom you mean.Wait a minute. Monsieur Marius,— Baron Marius Pont-mercy, to be sure! He lives, or rather he does no

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