Nothing in the aspect of the family was altered, except that the wife and daughters had levied on the package and put on woollen stockings and jackets. Two new blankets were thrown across the two beds. Jondrette had evidently just returned. He still had the breathlessness of out of doors.
His daughters were seated on the floor near the fireplace, the elder engaged in dressing the younger’s wounded hand. His wife had sunk back on the bed near the fireplace, with a face indicative of astonishment. Jondrette was pacing up and down the garret with long strides.
His eyes were extraordinary. The woman, who seemed timid and overwhelmed with stupor in the presence of her husband, turned to say:— 'What, really? You are sure? ' 'Sure! Eight years have passed! But I recognize him! Ah! I recognize him. I knew him at once! What!
Didn’t it force itself on you? ' 'No. ' 'But I told you: ‘Pay attention! ’ Why, it is his figure, it is his face, only older,—there are people who do not grow old, I don’t know how they manage it,—it is the very sound of his voice.
He is better dressed, that is all! Ah! you mysterious old devil, I’ve got you, that I have! ' He paused, and said to his daughters:— 'Get out of here, you! —It’s queer that it didn’t strike you! ' They arose to obey.
The mother stammered:— 'With her injured hand. ' 'The air will do it good,' said Jondrette. 'Be off. ' It was plain that this man was of the sort to whom no one offers to reply. The two girls departed.
At the moment when they were about to pass through the door, the father detained the elder by the arm, and said to her with a peculiar accent:— 'You will be here at five