“It was the night you left Paris. Today you shall promise me that you will pull no more of these stunts. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. Sheppard. 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. Ah, if I had written that!" "Don't you want to live?" "I don't know; I really don't know. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship.
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