A man with a knapsack and a rope, and a terrible-looking face.

“Indeed!” said the bishop.

This readiness to question her encouraged Madame Magloire; it seemed to indicate that the bishop was really well-nigh alarmed. She continued triumphantly: “Yes, monseigneur; it is true. Something bad will happen to-night in the town: everybody says so. The surveillance is so badly organised (a convenient repetition). To live in this mountainous country, and not even to have street lamps! If one goes out, it is dark as an oven. And I say, monseigneur, and mademoiselle says also—”

“Me?” interrupted the sister; “I say nothing. Whatever my brother does is well done.”

Madame Magloire went on as if she had not heard this protest:

“We say that this house is not safe at all; and if monseigneur will permit me, I will go and tell Paulin Musebois, the locksmith, to come and put the old bolts in the door again; they are there, and it will take but a minute. I say we must have bolts, were it only for to-night; for I say that a door which opens by a latch on the outside to the first comer, nothing could be more horrible: and then monseigneur has the habit of always saying ‘Come in,’ even at midnight. But, my goodness! there is no need even to ask leave—”

At this moment there was a violent knock on the door.

“Come in!” said the bishop.

3

THE HEROISM OF PASSIVE OBEDIENCE

THE DOOR OPENED.

It opened quickly, quite wide, as if pushed by some one boldly and with energy.

A man entered.

That man, we know already; it was the traveller we have seen wandering about in search of a lodging.

He came in, took one step, and paused, leaving the door open behind him. He had his knapsack on his back, his stick in his hand, and a rough, bold, tired, and fierce look in his eyes, as seen by the firelight. He was hideous. It was an apparition of ill omen.

Madame Magloire had not even the strength to scream. She stood trembling with her mouth open.

Mademoiselle Baptistine turned, saw the man enter, and started up half alarmed; then, slowly turning back again towards the fire, she looked at her brother, and her face resumed its usual calmness and serenity.

The bishop looked upon the man with a tranquil eye.

As he was opening his mouth to speak, doubtless to ask the stranger what he wanted, the man, leaning with both hands on his staff, glanced from one to another in turn, and without waiting for the bishop to speak, said in a loud voice:

“See here! My name is Jean Valjean. I am a convict; I have been nineteen years in the galleys. Four days ago I was set free, and started for Pontarlier, which is my destination; during those four days I have walked from Toulon. To-day I have walked thirty miles. When I reached this place this evening I went to an inn, and they sent me away on account of my yellow passport, which I had shown at the mayor’s office, as was necessary. I went to another inn, they said: ‘Get out!’ It was the same with one as with another; nobody would have me. I went to the prison, and the turnkey would not let me in. I crept into a dog-kennel, the dog bit me, and drove me away as if he had been a man; you would have said that he knew who I was. I went into the fields to sleep beneath the stars: there were no stars; I thought it would rain, and there was no good God to stop the drops, so I came back to the town to get the shelter of some doorway. There in the square I lay down upon a stone, a good woman showed me your house, and said: ‘Knock there!’ I have knocked. What is this place? Are you an inn? I have money; my savings, one hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous which I have earned in the galleys by my work for nineteen years. I will pay. What do I care? I have money. I am very tired—thirty miles on foot, and I am so hungry. Can I stay?”

“Madame Magloire,” said the bishop, “set another place.”

The man took three steps, and came near the lamp which stood on the table. “Stop,” he exclaimed; as if he had not been understood, “not that, did you understand me? I am a galley-slave—a convict—I am just from the galleys.” He drew from his pocket a large sheet of yellow paper, which he unfolded. “There is my passport, yellow as you see. That is enough to have me kicked out wherever I go.