\" He commented heartily, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. 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. "How very fortunate it is," he observed, "that I happened to call upon Mr. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club.
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