Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Escape was now impossible. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Besides, those things are deadly. One group at the door attracted Jack's attention, inasmuch as it was composed of several of his old acquaintances—Mr.
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