Chapter 209 Seven Strategies and Tactics

Marius, suffocated, was about to descend from his improvised lookout, when a sound caught his attention and made him stay where he had been. The door of the broken house opened suddenly. The eldest daughter appeared at the door. She wore a pair of large men's shoes, which were stained with mud, which splashed her red ankles, and she wore a tattered old-fashioned cloak, which Marius had not seen an hour before. , she may have left it outside the door in order to arouse more sympathy, and put it on after she went out.She came in, pushed the door behind her, and then, shouting triumphantly:

"he came!" Her father rolled his eyes, the woman turned her head, but the younger sister didn't move. "Who?" asked the father. "That gentleman." "The philanthropist?" "Yes." "The one at Saint-Jacques?" "Yes." "The old man?" "right." "He's coming?" "He's right behind me." "Can you hold it steady?" "Hold it firmly." "Is it true that he will come?" "He came in a carriage." "Take a carriage. How rich!"

The father stood up. "How can you say you're sure? If he's in a carriage, how can you get there before him? Did you at least tell him our address? Did you tell him it was the last one on the right at the bottom of the aisle?" Door? I hope he's right! You found him in church? Did he read my letter? What did he say?" "Well, well, well!" said the daughter, "you're firing, old man! Listen to me: I went into the church, and he took his usual place, and I greeted him and handed the letter to He, he read the letter and asked me: 'Where do you live, my child?' I said: 'Sir, I will show you the way.' He said: 'No, tell me the address, my daughter wants Go shopping, I will hire a carriage, and I will arrive at your house at the same time as you.' I told him the address. When I mentioned this house, he seemed a little surprised, hesitated for a while, and said "It doesn't matter, I'll just go." After the mass, I saw him leading his daughter out of the church and into a carriage. I made it clear to him that it was the last door on the right at the bottom of the aisle."

"How do you know he will come?" "I just saw that carriage had arrived in Little Bankers Street. I ran back quickly." "How do you know this carriage is the one he's in?" "Because I paid attention to the car number!" "What car number?" "Four forty." "Well, you're a smart girl." The daughter looked boldly at her father, showed him the shoes on her feet, and said: "A clever girl, that's possible. But I said I would never wear them again, I would never wear them again. First, for hygiene, and second, for cleanliness. I don't know anything better than this." The watery soles are even more annoying, just chirping along the way. I'd rather be barefoot."

"You're right," replied her father, in a gentle tone that contrasted with the girl's gruff voice, "but you're not allowed into church with bare feet. Poor people have to wear shoes.  … One cannot walk into the house of a merciful God with bare feet," he added wryly.Then he thought about what was in his heart: "So, are you sure that he will definitely come?" "He's right behind my heels," she said. The man straightened his back and looked radiant. "My lady," he roared, "you heard me! The philanthropist will be here shortly. Put out the fire."

Mother was dumbfounded by this and didn't move. With the quickness of a wanderer, the father grabbed a notched jug from the fireplace and poured water on two sticks of charred wood. Then he said to his elder daughter: "You! Pierce this chair through!" The daughter doesn't understand at all. He grabbed the chair and kicked it through, sinking his leg in. Pulling out his own leg, he asked his daughter: "Is it cold?" "It's very cold, and it's snowing." The father turned to his little daughter who was sitting on the bed by the window, and shouted at her like a thunderbolt:

"Quick! Get out of bed, you slob! You don't do anything! Break a piece of this glass!" The little girl jumped out of bed trembling. "Break a glass!" he added. The child was petrified and stood still. "Did you hear me?" said the father again, "I told you to break a glass!" The child was frightened and had to obey. She stood on tiptoe and punched the glass.The glass shattered and fell down. "Good fight," said her father. He looked serious, moved quickly, and quickly scanned every corner of the dilapidated house with his eyes wide open.

He is like a general who is about to start a war and prepares for the final deployment. The mother hadn't said a word yet, she stood up and asked in a slow and deep tone, as if the words she wanted to say had frozen: "Honey, what are you going to do?" "Lie on the bed for me." The man replied. That tone is non-negotiable.The woman was submissive and fell heavily on a broken bed. At this time, someone was sobbing and crying in the corner of the room. "What's the matter?" the father growled. The little girl huddled in a dark corner, not daring to come out, and only stretched out a bloody fist.Injured when the glass was broken, she went to her mother's bedside and cried secretly.

Now it was the mother's turn to stand up and make a fuss: "Did you see it! What a stupid thing you did! You told her to hit the glass, and her hand was bleeding!" "It's even better!" said the man, "It was expected earlier." "Why? How good is it?" the woman interjected. "Shut up!" the father countered. "I forbid free speech." Then, he tore off a strip from the woman's shirt on his body, made a bandage, and angrily wrapped the girl's bloody wrist. After wrapping it up, he lowered his head and looked at the torn shirt with satisfaction.He said:

"The shirt isn't bad either. It looks all right." A icy wind whizzed into the house through the glass windows.The thick fog outside also penetrated, and scattered into a vast expanse of whiteness, as if an invisible hand was swaying cotton wool in the dark.Through the panes of broken glass, it was possible to see snow falling outside.The severe cold promised by Candlemas yesterday came true. The father looked around again, as if checking to see if he had forgotten anything to do.He took an old shovel and sprinkled ashes over the two soaked sticks of charred wood, covering them completely.

Then he stood up, leaning his back against the fireplace, and said: "Now we can host the philanthropist."