“Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. It must be the dawn creeping in. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. There was some one there. He must be more or less of an age with this man. "My old coco is disintegrating. 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.
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