” The man contented himself with a nod. Don’t be frightened, dear. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. There was another little thing he had to say. 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. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. . " "Wear that to-night, then.
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