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. “If they matter to you, they matter. When at first she had realized that he 206 had conducted a sexual affair with a local well-known Florentine courtesan she called him out, accusing him of exposing her to an array of diseases. The Chapel. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence.
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