3
MEN MUST HAVE WINE AND HORSES WATER
FOUR NEW GUESTS had just come in.
Cosette was musing sadly; for, though she was only eight years old, she had already suffered so much that she mused with the mournful air of an old woman.
She had a black eye from a blow of the Thénardiess’s fist, which made the Thénardiess say from time to time, “How ugly she is with her bruise.”
Cosette was then thinking that it was evening, late in the evening, that she unexpectedly had to fill the bowls and pitchers in the rooms of the travellers who had arrived, and that there was no more water in the cistern.
One thing comforted her a little; they did not drink much water in the Thénardier tavern. There were plenty of people there who were thirsty; but it was that kind of thirst which reaches rather towards the jug than the pitcher. Had anybody asked for a glass of water among these glasses of wine, he would have seemed a savage to all those men. However, there was an instant when the child trembled; the Thénardiess raised the cover of a kettle which was boiling on the range, then took a glass and hastily approached the cistern. She turned the faucet; the child had raised her head and followed all her movements. A thin stream of water ran from the faucet, and filled the glass half full.
“Here,” said she, “there is no more water!” Then she was silent for a moment. The child held her breath.
“Pshaw!” continued the Thénardiess, examining the half-filled glass, “there is enough of it, such as it is.”
Cosette resumed her work, but for more than a quarter of an hour she felt her heart leaping into her throat like a great ball.
She counted the minutes as they thus rolled away, and eagerly wished it were morning.
From time to time, one of the drinkers would look out into the street and exclaim:—“It is as black as an oven!” or, “It would take a cat to go along the street without a lantern to-night!” And Cosette shuddered.
All at once, one of the pedlars who lodged in the tavern came in, and said in a harsh voice:
“You have not watered my horse.”
“Yes, we have, sure,” said the Thénardiess.
“I tell you no, ma‘am,” replied the pedlar.
Cosette came out from under the table.
“Oh, yes, monsieur!” said she, “the horse did drink; he drank in the bucket, the bucket full, and ‘twas me that carried it to him, and I talked to him.”
This was not true. Cosette lied.
“Here is a girl as big as my fist, who can tell a lie as big as a house,” exclaimed the pedlar. “I tell you that he has not had any water, little wench! He has a way of blowing when he has not had any water, that I know well enough.”
Cosette persisted, and added in a voice stifled with anguish, and which could hardly be heard:
“But he did drink a good deal.”
“Come,” continued the pedlar, in a passion, “that is enough; give my horse some water, and say no more about it.”
Cosette went back under the table.
“Well, of course that is right,” said the Thénardiess; “if the beast has not had any water, she must have some.”
Then looking about her:
“Well, what has become of that girl?”
She stooped down and discovered Cosette crouched at the other end of the table, almost under the feet of the drinkers.
“Aren’t you coming?” cried the Thénardiess.
Cosette came out of the kind of hole where she had hidden. The Thénardiess continued:
“Mademoiselle Dog-without-a-name, go and carry some drink to this horse.”
“But, ma‘am,” said Cosette feebly, “there is no water.”
The Thénardiess threw the street door wide open.
“Well, go after some!”
Cosette hung her head, and went for an empty bucket that was by the chimney corner.
The bucket was larger than she, and the child could have sat down in it comfortably.
The Thénardiess went back to her range, and tasted what was in the kettle with a wooden spoon, grumbling the while.
“There is some at the spring. It’s as simple as that. I think ‘twould have been better if I’d left out the onions.”
Then she fumbled in a drawer where there were some pennies, pepper, and scallions.
“Here, Mamselle Toad,” added she, “get a big loaf at the baker‘s, as you come back. Here is fifteen sous.”
Cosette had a little pocket in the side of her apron; she took the coin without saying a word, and put it in that pocket.
Then she remained motionless, bucket in hand, the open door before her. She seemed to be waiting for somebody to come to her aid.
“Get along!” cried the Thénardiess.
Cosette went out. The door closed.bh