\"Could you take off your shoes?\" Michelle asked. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. I can’t love you. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll.
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