Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Wood. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. But the world didn’t do that. Sheppard. He filled her glass with champagne.
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