Bossuet had mentioned something, about how he had learned the connection between dirty water and cholera from those who had clean water much more readily available. But Combeferre had never imagined this. Clean, pure water, available at the turn of a knob! No firewood needed, no hauling water up several flights of steps--none of that. Just a simple mechanism, manageable even by someone with very little strength.

Combeferre doesn't know whether to marvel at this glory, or to curse the fact that it came so late.

He thinks, perhaps, he should simply concentrate on washing the blood off, and worry about whether to rejoice or mourn later.