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. I—listen. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. "I hope not. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued.
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