She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. 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. Nothing. She laughed a little bitterly. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. "Yale? Why, so am I. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind. ‘I understand you have not been in England very long,’ he said in English, noting that Madame raised her fan and lowered her gaze demurely. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. As a sex you’re a little under-trained—in affairs. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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