To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. " "Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me by and by, I've no doubt.
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