’ Melusine sighed in a satisfied way. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. ‘Here we go again. 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. Anna sent her away. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters. ” “Mr.
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