"I''m going to bed.
Do as you like." Her husband seated himself at a table in the corner, lighted a candle, and began to read the Courrier Francais.
A good hour passed thus.
The worthy inn-keeper had perused the Courrier Francais at least three times, from the date of the number to the printer''s name.
The stranger did not stir.
Thenardier fidgeted, coughed, spit, blew his nose, and creaked his chair.
Not a movement on the man''s part.
"Is he asleep?" thought Thenardier.
The man was not asleep, but nothing could arouse him.
At last Thenardier took off his cap, stepped gently up to him, and ventured to say:--
"Is not Monsieur going to his repose?"
Not going to bed would have seemed to him excessive and familiar. To repose smacked of luxury and respect.
These words possess the mysterious and admirable property of swelling the bill on the following day.
A chamber where one sleeps costs twenty sous; a chamber in which one reposes costs twenty francs.
"Well!" said the stranger, "you are right.
Where is your stable?"
"Sir!" exclaimed Thenardier, with a smile, "I will conduct you, sir."
He took the candle; the man picked up his bundle and cudgel, and Thenardier conducted him to a chamber on the first floor, which was of rare splendor, all furnished in mahogany, with a low bedstead, curtained with red calico.