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On the day when we first had the evil tidings of the slaying of my Lady we were sad at heart, and called to mind ancient transgressions against us; therefore we fell on the she-bear, as thou callest her, and her company of men and women, and some we slew and some we thrust forth; but as to her, I slew her not three feet from where thou standest now.
It is sometimes laughable it would always be, only that it is too sad to see how quickly both parties grow pious, as they grow perverse. It would seem, as the strife waxes hot, that the glory of God was never so much in their hearts as now.
It seemed to Maraton himself, as he stood there listening to the roar of welcoming voices, as though all their white faces were gathered into one, the prototype of suffering humanity, the sad, hollow-checked, hollow-eyed victim of birth and heritage. His voice seemed to swell that night to something greater than its usual volume; some peculiar gift of penetration seemed to have been accorded him.
Suiting the action to the thought, Mr. Stirn made a rapid plunge at his victim, caught him by the skirt of his jacket; and in a few seconds more, the jaws of the stocks had opened, and Lenny Fairfield was thrust therein, a sad spectacle of the reverses of fortune.
Then she presented her brow to Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean advanced a step toward her. Cosette recoiled. "Father, you are pale. Does your arm hurt you?" "It is well," said Jean Valjean. "Did you sleep badly?" "No." "Are you sad?" "No." "Embrace me if you are well, if you sleep well, if you are content, I will not scold you." And again she offered him her brow.
She turns a face, singularly childish, yet with the sad first break of womanhood upon it, to his. "How dare you love me like this?" says she. "Tita, listen to me " "No. Not I! You must be a fool to talk to me like this. Of what use is it? What good? If you loved me for ever, what good could come of it? I don't love you!
The disciples had a contest among themselves about which of them should be greatest. This led Jesus, in the course of the evening, to give them the lesson of humility, by washing his disciples' feet, of which we have already spoken. Then he told them how sorrowfully he was feeling. He said they would all forsake him, and one of them would betray him that very night. This made them feel very sad.
Now, as I had none to work for and my wants were few and simple, I found more time for the writing of stories which, for the most part, were somewhat sad. One of these stories a fellow scribe borrowed from me and read aloud to a company, whom it pleased so much that there were many who asked leave to copy it and publish it abroad.
Tiennou was one of them, and Margot was in despair to think that she should not see him for five interminable years, that they could not even, at that hour of sad farewells, be alone and exchange those consoling words which afterwards alleviate the pain of absence.
There were other times, when life seemed less sad than dull. Julia grew sick of loneliness, sick of silence; she stared at her face in the mirror, when she was slowly dressing in the morning; stared at herself again at night as if marvelling at this woman who was a wife, and a mother, and deserted in her young bloom.
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