Les Misérables, v. 5/5: Jean Valjean

by Victor Hugo

  CHAPTER IV.

  A BOTTLE OF INK WHICH ONLY WHITENS.

  That same day, or, to speak more correctly, that same evening, asMarius was leaving the dinner-table to withdraw to his study, as hehad a brief to get up, Basque handed him a letter, saying, "The personwho wrote the letter is in the anteroom." Cosette had seized hergrandfather's arm, and was taking a turn round the garden. A letter mayhave an ugly appearance, like a man, and the mere sight of coarse paperand clumsy folding is displeasing. The letter which Basque brought wasof that description. Marius took it, and it smelt of tobacco. Nothingarouses a recollection so much as a smell, and Marius recognized thetobacco. He looked at the address, "To Monsieur le Baron Pommerci, Athis house." The recognized tobacco made him recognize the handwriting.It might be said that astonishment has its flashes of lightning, andMarius was, as it were, illumined by one of these flashes. The odor,that mysterious aid to memory, had recalled to him a world: it wasreally the paper, the mode of folding, the pale ink; it was reallythe well-known handwriting; and, above all, it was the tobacco. TheJondrette garret rose again before him. Hence--strange blow ofaccident!--one of the two trails which he had so long sought, theone for which he had latterly made so many efforts and believed lostforever, came to offer itself voluntarily to him. He eagerly opened theletter and read:--

  "MONSIEUR LE BARON,--If the Supreme Being had endowed me with talents,I might have been Baron Thénard, member of the Institute (academy ofciences), but I am not so. I merely bear the same name with him, andshall be happy if this reminisence recommends me to the excellenseof your kindness. The benefits with which you may honor me willbe reciprocal, for I am in possession of a secret conserning anindividual. This individual conserns you. I hold the secret at yourdisposal, as I desire to have the honor of being uceful to you. I willgive you the simple means for expeling from your honorable familythis individual who has no right in it, Madam la Barronne being ofhigh birth. The sanctuary of virtue could no longer coabit with crimewithout abdicating.

  "I await in the anteroom the order of Monsieur le Baron.

  "Respectfully."

  The letter was signed "THÉNARD." This signature was not false, but onlyslightly abridged. However, the bombast and the orthography completedthe revelation, the certificate of origin was perfect, and no doubtwas possible. Marius's emotion was profound; and after the movementof surprise he had a movement of happiness. Let him now find theother man he sought, the man who had saved him, Marius, and he wouldhave nothing more to desire. He opened a drawer in his bureau, tookout several bank-notes, which he put in his pocket, closed the draweragain, and rang. Basque opened the door partly.

  "Show the man in," said Marius.

  Basque announced,--

  "M. Thénard."

  A man came in, and it was a fresh surprise for Marius, as the man henow saw was a perfect stranger to him. This man, who was old, by theway, had a large nose, his chin in his cravat, green spectacles, witha double shade of green silk over his eyes, and his hair smootheddown and flattened on his forehead over his eyebrows, like the wig ofEnglish coachmen of high life. His hair was gray. He was dressed inblack from head to foot,--a very seedy but clean black,--and a bunchof seals, emerging from his fob, led to the supposition that he had awatch. He held an old hat in his hand, and walked bent, and the curvein his back augmented the depth of his bow. The thing which struck mostat the first glance was that this person's coat, too large, thoughcarefully buttoned, had not been made for him. A short digression isnecessary here.

  There was at that period in Paris, in an old house situated in the RueBeautreillis near the arsenal, an old Jew whose trade it was to converta rogue into an honest man, though not for too long a period, as itmight have been troublesome to the rogue. The change was effected atsight, for one day or two, at the rate of thirty sous a day, by meansof a costume resembling as closely as possible every-day honesty. Thisletter-out of suits was called the "exchange-broker." Parisian thieveshad given him that name, and knew him by no other. He had a verycomplete wardrobe, and the clothes in which he invested people suitedalmost every condition. He had specialties and categories: from eachnail of his store hung a social station, worn and threadbare; here themagistrate's coat, there the curé's coat, and the banker's coat; inone corner the coat of an officer on half pay, elsewhere the coat of aman of letters, and further on the statesman's coat. This creature wasthe costumer of the immense drama which roguery plays in Paris, andhis den was the side-scene from which robbery went out or swindlingre-entered. A ragged rogue arrived at this wardrobe, deposited thirtysous, and selected, according to the part which he wished to play onthat day, the clothes which suited him; and, on going down the stairsagain, the rogue was somebody. The next day the clothes were faithfullybrought back, and the "exchange-broker," who entirely trusted to thethieves, was never robbed. These garments had one inconvenience,--theydid not fit; not being made for the man who wore them, they weretight on one, loose on another, and fitted nobody. Any swindler whoexceeded the average mean in height or shortness was uncomfortable inthe "exchange-broker's" suits. A man must be neither too stout nor toothin, for the broker had only provided for ordinary mortals, and hadtaken the measure of the species in the person of the first thief whoturned up, and is neither stout nor thin, nor tall nor short. Hencearose at times difficult adaptations, which the broker's customersgot over as best they could. All the worse for the exceptions! Thestatesman's garments, for instance, black from head to foot, would havebeen too loose for Pitt and too tight for Castelcicala. The statesman'ssuit was thus described in the broker's catalogue, from which we copiedit: "A black cloth coat, black moleskin trousers, a silk waistcoat,boots, and white shirt." There was on the margin "Ex-Ambassador," and anote which we also transcribe: "In a separate box a carefully-dressedperuke, green spectacles, bunch of seals, and two little quills aninch in length, wrapped in cotton." All this belonged to the statesmanor ex-ambassador. The whole of this costume was, if we may say so,extenuated. The seams were white, and a small button-hole gaped atone of the elbows; moreover, a button was missing off the front, butthat is only a detail, for as the hand of the statesman must always bethrust into the coat, and upon the heart, it had the duty of hiding theabsence of the button.

  Had Marius been familiar with the occult institutions of Paris, hewould at once have recognized in the back of the visitor whom Basquehad just shown in, the coat of the statesman borrowed from theUnhook-me-that of the "exchange-broker." Marius's disappointment onseeing a different man from the one whom he expected to enter, turnedinto disgust with the new-comer. He examined him from head to foot,while the personage was giving him an exaggerated bow, and asked himcurtly, "What do you want?"

  The man replied with an amiable _rictus_, of which the caressing smileof a crocodile would supply some idea:--

  "It appears to me impossible that I have not already had the honor ofseeing Monsieur le Baron in society. I have a peculiar impression ofhaving met him a few years back at the Princess Bagration's, and in thesalons of his Excellency Vicomte Dambray, Peer of France."

  It is always good tactics in swindling to pretend to recognize a personwhom the swindler does not know. Marius paid attention to the man'swords, he watched the action and movement, but his disappointmentincreased; it was a nasal pronunciation, absolutely different from thesharp dry voice he expected. He was utterly routed.

  "I do not know," he said, "either Madame Bagration or Monsieur Dambray.I never set foot in the house of either of them."

  The answer was rough, but the personage continued with undiminishedaffability,--

  "Then it must have been at Chateaubriand's that I saw Monsieur! I knowChateaubriand intimately, and he is a most affable man. He says to mesometimes, Thénard, my good friend, will you not drink a glass with me?"

  Marius's brow became sterner and sterner. "I never had the honor ofbeing received at M. de Chateaubriand's house. Come to the point; whatdo you want with me?"

  The man bowed lower still before this harsh voi
ce.

  "Monsieur le Baron, deign to listen to me. There is in America, in acountry near Panama, a village called La Joya, and this village iscomposed of a single house. A large square house three stories high,built of bricks dried in the sun, each side of the square being fivehundred feet long, and each story retiring from the one under it fora distance of twelve feet, so as to leave in front of it a terracewhich runs all round the house. In the centre is an inner court, inwhich provisions and ammunition are stored; there are no windows, onlyloop-holes, no door, only ladders,--ladders to mount from the groundto the first terrace, and from the first to the second, and from thesecond to the third; ladders to descend into the inner court; nodoors to the rooms, only traps; no staircases to the apartments, onlyladders. At night the trap-doors are closed, the ladders are drawn up,and blunderbusses and carbines are placed in the loop-holes; there isno way of entering; it is a house by day, a citadel by night. Eighthundred inhabitants,--such is this village. Why such precautions?Because the country is dangerous, and full of man-eaters. Then, why dopeople go there? Because it is a marvellous country, and gold is foundthere."

  "What are you driving at?" Marius, who had passed from disappointmentto impatience, interrupted.

  "To this, M. le Baron. I am a worn-out ex-diplomatist. I am sick of ourold civilization, and wish to try the savages."

  "What next?"

  "Monsieur le Baron, egotism is the law of the world. The proletarianpeasant-wench who works by the day turns round when the diligencepasses, but the peasant-woman who is laboring on her own field does notturn. The poor man's dog barks after the rich, the rich man's dog barksafter the poor; each for himself, and self-interest is the object ofmankind. Gold is the magnet."

  "What next? Conclude."

  "I should like to go and settle at La Joya. There are three of us. Ihave my wife and my daughter, a very lovely girl. The voyage is longand expensive, and I am short of funds."

  "How does that concern me?" Marius asked.

  The stranger thrust his neck out of his cravat, with a gesture peculiarto the vulture, and said, with a more affable smile than before,--

  "Monsieur le Baron cannot have read my letter?"

  That was almost true, and the fact is that the contents of the epistlehad escaped Marius; he had seen the writing rather than read theletter, and he scarce remembered it. A new hint had just been givenhim, and he noticed the detail, "My wife and daughter." He fixed apenetrating glance on the stranger,--a magistrate could not have doneit better,--but he confined himself to saying,--

  "Be more precise."

  The stranger thrust his hands in his trousers' pockets, raised his headwithout straightening his backbone, but on his side scrutinizing Mariusthrough his green spectacles.

  "Very good, M. le Baron, I will be precise. I have a secret to sellyou."

  "Does it concern me?"

  "Slightly."

  "What is it?"

  Marius more and more examined the man while listening.

  "I will begin gratis," the stranger said; "you will soon see that it isinteresting."

  "Speak."

  "Monsieur le Baron, you have in your house a robber and an assassin."

  Marius gave a start.

  "In my house? No," he said.

  The stranger imperturbably brushed his hat with his arm, and went on.

  "An assassin and a robber. Remark, M. le Baron, that I am not speakinghere of old-forgotten facts, which might be effaced by prescriptionbefore the law--by repentance before God. I am speaking of recentfacts, present facts, of facts still unknown to justice. I continue.This man has crept into your confidence, and almost into your family,under a false name. I am going to tell you his real name, and tell ityou for nothing."

  "I am listening."

  "His name is Jean Valjean."

  "I know it."

  "I will tell, equally for nothing, who he is." "Speak."

  "He is an ex-convict."

  "I know it."

  "You have known it since I had the honor of telling you."

  "No, I was aware of it before."

  Marius's cold tone, this double reply, "I know it," and his stubbornshortness in the conversation aroused some latent anger in thestranger, and he gave Marius a furious side-glance, which wasimmediately extinguished. Rapid though it was, the glance was one ofthose which are recognized if they have once been seen, and it did notescape Marius. Certain flashes can only come from certain souls; theeyeball, that cellar-door of the soul, is lit up by them, and greenspectacles conceal nothing; you might as well put up a glass window tohell. The stranger continued, smiling,--

  "I will not venture to contradict M. le Baron, but in any case you willsee that I am well informed. Now, what I have to tell you is known tomyself alone, and it affects the fortune of Madame la Baronne. It isan extraordinary secret, and is for sale. I offer it you first. Cheap!twenty thousand francs."

  "I know that secret as I know the other," said Marius.

  The personage felt the necessity of lowering his price a little.

  "Monsieur le Baron, let us say ten thousand francs, and I will speak."

  "I repeat to you that you have nothing to tell me. I know what you wantto say to me."

  There was a fresh flash in the man's eye, as he continued,--

  "Still, I must dine to-day. It is an extraordinary secret, I tell you.Monsieur, I am going to speak. I am speaking. Give me twenty francs."

  Marius looked at him fixedly.

  "I know your extraordinary secret, just as I knew Jean Valjean's name,and as I know yours."

  "My name?"

  "Yes."

  "That is not difficult, M. le Baron, for I had the honor of writing itand mentioning it to you. Thénard--"

  "--dier."

  "What?"

  "Thénardier."

  "What does this mean?"

  In danger the porcupine bristles, the beetle feigns death, the oldguard forms a square. This man began laughing. Then he flipped a grainof dust off his coat-sleeve. Marius continued,--

  "You are also the workman Jondrette, the actor Fabantou, the poetGenflot, the Spanish Don Alvares, and Madame Balizard."

  "Madame who?"

  "And you once kept a pot-house at Montfermeil."

  "A pot-house! Never."

  "And I tell you that you are Thénardier."

  "I deny it."

  "And that you are a scoundrel. Take that."

  And Marius, taking a bank-note from his pocket, threw it in his face.

  "Five hundred francs! Monsieur le Baron!"

  And the man, overwhelmed and bowing, clutched the note and examined it.

  "Five hundred francs!" he continued, quite dazzled. And he stammeredhalf aloud, "No counterfeit;" then suddenly exclaimed, "Well, be it so.Let us be at our ease."

  And with monkey-like dexterity, throwing back his hair, tearing off hisspectacles, and removing the two quills to which we alluded just now,and which we have seen before in another part of this book, he tookoff his face as you or I take off our hat. His eye grew bright, theforehead--uneven, gullied, scarred, hideously wrinkled at top--becameclear, the nose sharp as a beak, and the ferocious and shrewd profileof the man of prey reappeared.

  "Monsieur le Baron is infallible," he said in a sharp voice, from whichthe nasal twang had entirely disappeared; "I am Thénardier."

  And he straightened his curved back.

  Thénardier--for it was really he--was strangely surprised, and wouldhave been troubled could he have been so. He had come to bringastonishment, and it was himself who was astonished. This humiliationwas paid for with five hundred francs, and he accepted it; but he wasnot the less stunned. He saw for the first time this Baron Pontmercy,and in spite of his disguise this Baron Pontmercy recognized him, andrecognized him thoroughly; and not alone was this Baron acquaintedwith Thénardier, but he also seemed acquainted with Jean Valjean. Whowad this almost beardless young man, so cold and so generous; who knewpeople's names, knew all their names, and opened his purse
to them; whobullied rogues like a judge, and paid them like a dupe? Thénardier,it will be remembered, though he had been Marius's neighbor, had neverseen him, which is frequently the case in Paris. He had formerlyvaguely heard his daughter speak of a very poor young man of the nameof Marius, who lived in the house, and he had written him, withoutknowing him, the letter we formerly read. No approximation between thisMarius and M. le Baron Pontmercy was possible in his mind. With regardto the name of Pontmercy, we must recollect that on the battle-fieldof Waterloo he had heard only the last two syllables, for which he hadalways had the justifiable disdain which one is likely to have for whatis merely thanks.

  However, he had managed through his daughter Azelma, whom he put on thetrack of the married couple on February 16, and by his own researches,to learn a good many things, and in his dark den had succeeded inseizing more than one mysterious thread. He had by sheer industrydiscovered, or at least by the inductive process had divined, who theman was whom he had met on a certain day in the Great Sewer. From theman he had easily arrived at the name, and he knew that Madame laBaronne Pontmercy was Cosette. But on that point he intended to bediscreet. Who Cosette was he did not know exactly himself. He certainlygot a glimpse of some bastardism, and Fantine's story had alwaysappeared to him doubtful. But what was the good of speaking,--to havehis silence paid? He had, or fancied he had, something better to sellthan that; and according to all expectation, to go and make to BaronPontmercy, without further proof, the revelation, "Your wife is only abastard," would only have succeeded in attracting the husbands boot tothe broadest part of his person.

  In Thénardier's thoughts the conversation with Marius had not yetbegun; he had been obliged to fall back, modify his strategy, leave aposition, and make a change of front; but nothing essential was as yetcompromised, and he had five hundred francs in his pocket. Moreover, hehad something decisive to tell, and he felt himself strong even againstthis Baron Pontmercy, who was so well-informed and so well-armed. Formen of Thénardier's nature every dialogue is a combat, and what was hissituation in the one which was about to begin? He did not know to whomhe was speaking, but he knew of what he was speaking. He rapidly madethis mental review of his forces, and after saying, "I am Thénardier,"waited. Marius was in deep thought; he at length held Thénardier, andthe man whom he had so eagerly desired to find again was before him.He would be able at last to honor Colonel Pontmercy's recommendation.It humiliated him that this hero owed anything to this bandit, andthat the bill of exchange drawn by his father from the tomb upon him,Marius, had remained up to this day protested. It seemed to him, too,in the complex state of his mind as regarded Thénardier, that he wasbound to avenge the Colonel for the misfortune of having been savedby such a villain. But, however this might be, he was satisfied; hewas at length going to free the Colonel's shadow from this unworthycreditor, and felt as if he were releasing his fathers memory from adebtor's prison. By the side of this duty he had another, clearing upif possible the source of Cosette's fortune. The opportunity appearedto present itself, for Thénardier probably knew something, and it mightbe useful to see to the bottom of this man; so he began with that.Thénardier put away the "no counterfeit" carefully in his pocket, andlooked at Marius with almost tender gentleness. Marius was the first tobreak the silence.

  "Thénardier, I have told you your name, and now do you wish me totell you the secret which you have come to impart to me? I have myinformation also, and you shall see that I know more than you do. JeanValjean, as you said, is an assassin and a robber. A robber, because heplundered a rich manufacturer, M. Madeleine, whose ruin he caused: anassassin, because he murdered Inspector Javert."

  "I do not understand you, M. le Baron," said Thénardier.

  "I will make you understand; listen. There was in the Pas de Calaisdistrict, about the year 1822, a man who had been in some troublewith the authorities, and who had rehabilitated and restored himselfunder the name of Monsieur Madeleine. This man had become, in thefullest extent of the term, a just man, and he made the fortune of anentire town by a trade, the manufacture of black beads. As for hisprivate fortune, he had made that too, but secondarily, and to someextent as occasion offered. He was the foster-father of the poor, hefounded hospitals, opened schools, visited the sick, dowered girls,supported widows, adopted orphans, and was, as it were, guardian of thetown. He had refused the cross, and was appointed mayor. A liberatedconvict knew the secret of a penalty formerly incurred by this man;he denounced and had him arrested, and took advantage of the arrestto come to Paris and draw out of Laffitte's--I have the facts fromthe cashier himself--by means of a false signature, a sum of halfa million and more, which belonged to M. Madeleine. The convict whorobbed M. Madeleine was Jean Valjean; as for the other fact, you cantell me no more than I know either. Jean Valjean killed InspectorJavert with a pistol-shot, and I, who am speaking to you, was present."

  Thénardier gave Marius the sovereign glance of a beaten man who setshis hand again on the victory, and has regained in a minute all theground he had lost. But the smile at once returned, for the inferior,when in presence of his superior, must keep his triumph to himself, andThénardier confined himself to saying to Marius,--

  "Monsieur le Baron, we are on the wrong track."

  And he underlined this sentence by giving his bunch of seals anexpressive twirl.

  "What!" Marius replied, "do you dispute it? They are facts."

  "They are chimeras. The confidence with which Monsieur le Baron honorsme makes it my duty to tell him so. Before all, truth and justice, andI do not like to see people accused wrongfully. Monsieur le Baron,Jean Valjean did not rob M. Madeleine, and Jean Valjean did not killJavert."

  "That is rather strong. Why not?"

  "For two reasons."

  "What are they? Speak."

  "The first is this: he did not rob M. Madeleine, because Jean Valjeanhimself is M. Madeleine."

  "What nonsense are you talking?"

  "And this is the second: he did not assassinate Javert, because the manwho killed Javert was Javert."

  "What do you mean?"

  "That Javert committed suicide."

  "Prove it, prove it!" Marius cried wildly.

  Thénardier repeated slowly, scanning his sentence after the fashion ofan ancient Alexandrian,--

  "Police-Agent-Javert-was-found-drowned-un-der-a boat-at-Pont-au-Change."

  "But prove it, then."

  Thénardier drew from his side-pocket a large gray paper parcel whichseemed to contain folded papers of various sizes.

  "I have my proofs," he said calmly, and he added: "Monsieur le Baron,I wished to know Jean Valjean thoroughly on your behalf. I say thatJean Valjean and Madeleine are the same, and I say that Javert had noother assassin but Javert; and when I say this, I have the proofs,not manuscript proofs, for writing is suspicious and complaisant, butprinted proofs."

  While speaking, Thénardier extracted from the parcel two newspapers,yellow, faded, and tremendously saturated with tobacco. One of thesetwo papers, broken in all the folds, and falling in square rags,seemed much older than the other.

  "Two facts, two proofs," said Thénardier, as he handed Marius the twoopen newspapers.

  These two papers the reader knows; one, the older, a number of the_Drapeau Blanc_, for July 25, 1823, of which the exact text was givenin the second volume of this work, established the identity of M.Madeleine and Jean Valjean. The other, a _Moniteur_, of June 15,1832, announced the suicide of Javert, adding that it was found, froma verbal report made by Javert to the Préfet, that he had been madeprisoner at the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, and owed hislife to the magnanimity of an insurgent, who, when holding him underhis pistol, instead of blowing out his brains, fired in the air. Mariusread; there was evidence, a certain date, irrefragable proof, for thesetwo papers had not been printed expressly to support Thénardier'sstatement, and the note published in the _Moniteur_ was officiallycommunicated by the Préfecture of Police. Marius could no longer doubt;the cashier's information was
false, and he was himself mistaken. JeanValjean, suddenly growing great, issued from the cloud, and Mariuscould not restrain a cry of joy.

  "What, then, this poor fellow is an admirable man! All this fortune isreally his! He is Madeleine, the providence of an entire town! He isJean Valjean, the savior of Javert! He is a hero! He is a saint!"

  "He is not a saint, and he is not a hero," said Thénadier; "he isan assassin and a robber." And he added with the accent of a manbeginning to feel himself possessed of some authority, "Let us calmourselves."

  Robber, assassin,--those words which Marius believed had disappeared,and which had returned, fell upon him like a cold shower-bath."Still--" he said.

  "Still," said Thénardier, "Jean Valjean did not rob M. Madeleine, buthe is a robber; he did not assassinate Javert, but he is an assassin."

  "Are you alluding," Marius continued, "to that wretched theft committedforty years back, and expiated, as is proved from those very papers, bya whole life of repentance, self-denial, and virtue?"

  "I say assassination and robbery, M. le Baron, and repeat that I amalluding to recent facts. What I have to reveal to you is perfectlyunknown and unpublished, and you may perhaps find in it the source ofthe fortune cleverly offered by Jean Valjean to Madame la Baronne. Isay cleverly, for it would not be a stupid act, by a donation of thatnature, to step into an honorable house, whose comforts he would share,and at the same time hide the crime, enjoy his robbery, bury his name,and create a family."

  "I could interrupt you here," Marius observed, "but go on."

  "Monsieur le Baron, I will tell you all, leaving the reward to yourgenerosity, for the secret is worth its weight in gold. You will say tome, 'Why not apply to Jean Valjean?' For a very simple reason. I knowthat he has given up all his property in your favor, and I considerthe combination ingenious; but he has not a halfpenny left; he wouldshow me his empty hands, and as I want money for my voyage to La Joya,I prefer you, who have everything, to him, who has nothing. As I amrather fatigued, permit me to take a chair."

  Marius sat down, and made him a sign to do the same. Thénardierinstalled himself in an easy-chair, took up the newspapers, put themback in the parcel, and muttered as he dug his nail into the _DrapeauBlanc_, "It cost me a deal of trouble to procure this." This done, hecrossed his legs, threw himself in the chair in the attitude of menwho are certain of what they are stating, and then began his narrativegravely, and laying a stress on his words:--

  "Monsieur le Baron, on June 6, 1832, about a year ago, and on the dayof the riots, a man was in the Great Sewer of Paris, at the point wherethe sewer falls into the Seine between the Pont des Invalides and thePont de Jéna."

  Marius hurriedly drew his chair closer to Thénardier's. Thénardiernoticed this movement, and continued with the slowness of an orator whoholds his hearer, and feels his adversary quivering under his words:--

  "This man, forced to hide himself, for reasons, however, unconnectedwith politics, had selected the sewer as his domicile, and had the keyof it. It was, I repeat, June 6, and about eight in the evening the manheard a noise in the sewer; feeling greatly surprised, he concealedhimself and watched. It was a sound of footsteps; some one was walkingin the darkness, and coming in his direction; strange to say, there wasanother man beside himself in the sewer. As the outlet of the sewerwas no great distance off, a little light which passed through enabledhim to see the new-comer, and that he was carrying something on hisback. He walked in a stooping posture; he was an ex-convict, and whathe had on his shoulders was a corpse. A flagrant case of assassination,if there ever was one; as for the robbery, that is a matter of course,for no one kills a man gratis. This convict was going to throw the bodyinto the river, and a fact worth notice is, that, before reaching theoutlet, the convict, who had come a long way through the sewer, wasobliged to pass a frightful hole, in which it seems as if he might haveleft the corpse; but the sewer-men who came to effect the repairs nextday would have found the murdered man there, and that did not suit theassassin. Hence he preferred carrying the corpse across the slough,and his efforts must have been frightful; it was impossible to riskone's life more perfectly, and I do not understand how he got out of italive."

  Marius's chair came nearer, and Thénardier took advantage of it to drawa long breath; then he continued:---

  "Monsieur le Baron, a sewer is not the Champ de Mars; everything iswanting there, even space, and when two men are in it together theymust meet. This happened, and the domiciled man and the passer-by werecompelled to bid each other good-evening, to their mutual regret. Thepasser-by said to the domiciled man, 'You see what I have on my back.I must go out; you have the key, so give it to me.' This convict wasa man of terrible strength, and there was no chance of refusing him;still, the man who held the key parleyed, solely to gain time. Heexamined the dead man, but could see nothing, except that he was young,well dressed, had a rich look, and was quite disfigured with blood.While talking, he managed to tear off, without the murderer perceivingit, a piece of the skirt of the victim's coat, as a convincing proof,you understand, a means of getting on the track of the affair, andbringing the crime home to the criminal. He placed the piece of clothin his pocket; after which he opened the grating, allowed the man withthe load on his back to go out, locked the grating again, and ranaway, not feeling at all desirous to be mixed up any further in theadventure, or to be present when the assassin threw the corpse intothe river. You now understand: the man who carried the corpse was JeanValjean; the one who had the key is speaking to you at this moment, andthe piece of coat-skirt--"

  Thénardier completed the sentence by drawing from his pocket andholding level with his eyes a ragged piece of black cloth all coveredwith dark spots. Marius had risen, pale, scarce breathing, with hiseye fixed on the black patch, and, without uttering a syllable, orwithout taking his eyes off the rag, he fell back, and, with his righthand extended behind him, felt for the key of a wall-cupboard nearthe mantel-piece. He found this key, opened the cupboard, and thrustin his hand without looking or once taking his eyes off the rag whichThénardier displayed. In the mean while Thénardier continued,--

  "Monsieur le Baron, I have the strongest grounds for believing thatthe assassinated young man was a wealthy foreigner, drawn by JeanValjean into a trap, and carrying an enormous sum about him."

  "I was the young man, and here is the coat!" cried Marius, as he threwon the floor an old black coat all covered with blood. Then, taking thepatch from Thénardier's hands, he bent over the coat and put it in itsplace in the skirt; the rent fitted exactly, and the fragment completedthe coat Thénardier was petrified, and thought, "I'm sold." Marius drewhimself up, shuddering, desperate, and radiant; he felt in his pocket,and walking furiously towards Thénardier, thrusting almost into hisface his hand full of five hundred and thousand franc notes,--

  "You are an infamous wretch! You are a liar, a calumniator, and avillain! You came to accuse that man, and you have justified him; youcame to ruin him, and have only succeeded in glorifying him. And itis you who are the robber! It is you who are an assassin! I saw you,Thénardier--Jondrette, at that den on the Boulevard de l'Hôpital. Iknow enough about you to send you to the galleys, and even farther if Iliked. There are a thousand francs, ruffian that you are!"

  And he threw a thousand-franc note at Thénardier.

  "Ah! Jondrette--Thénardier, vile scoundrel, let this serve you as alesson, you hawker of secrets, you dealer in mysteries, you searcher inthe darkness, you villain, take these five hundred francs, and be off.Waterloo protects you."

  "Waterloo!" Thénardier growled, as he pocketed the five hundred francs.

  "Yes, assassin! You saved there the life of a colonel."

  "A general!" Thénardier said, raising his head.

  "A colonel!" Marius repeated furiously. "I would not give a farthingfor a general. And you come here to commit an infamy! I tell you thatyou have committed every crime! Begone! Disappear! Be happy, that isall I desire. Ah, monster! Here are three thousand francs more: takethem. You
will start to-morrow for America with your daughter, for yourwife is dead, you abominable liar! I will watch over your departure,bandit, and at the moment when you set sail, pay you twenty thousandfrancs. Go and get hanged elsewhere."

  "Monsieur le Baron," Thénardier answered, bowing to the ground, "acceptmy eternal gratitude."

  And Thénardier left the room, understanding nothing of all this, butstupefied and ravished by this sweet crushing under bags of gold, andthis lightning flashing over his head in the shape of bank-notes. Letus finish at once with this man: two days after the events we have justrecorded he started for America, under a false name, with his daughterAzelma, and provided with an order on a New York banker for twentythousand francs. The moral destitution of Thénardier, the spoiledbourgeois, was irremediable, and he was in America what he had been inEurope. The contact with a wicked man is sometimes sufficient to rota good action, and to make something bad issue from it: with Marius'smoney Thénardier turned slave dealer.

  So soon as Thénardier had departed, Marius ran into the garden whereCosette was still walking.

  "Cosette, Cosette!" he cried, "come, come quickly, let us be off!Basque, a hackney coach! Cosette, come! Oh, heavens! It was he whosaved my life! Let us not lose a minute! Put on your shawl."

  Cosette thought him mad, and obeyed. He could not breathe, and laidhis hand on his heart to check its beating. He walked up and down withlong strides, and embraced Cosette. "Oh, Cosette!" he said, "I am awretch." Marius was amazed, for he was beginning to catch a glimpseof some strange, lofty, and sombre figure in this Jean Valjean. Anextraordinary virtue appeared to him, supreme and gentle, and humble inits immensity, and the convict was transfigured into Christ. Marius wasdazzled by this prodigy, and though he knew not exactly what he saw,it was grand. In an instant the hackney coach was at the gate. Mariushelped Cosette in, and followed her.

  "Driver," he cried, "No. 7, Rue de l'Homme Armé."

  "Oh, how glad I am!" said Cosette. "Rue de l'Homme Armé; I did not darespeak to you about Monsieur Jean, but we are going to see him."

  "Your father, Cosette! your father more than ever. Cosette, I see itall. You told me that you never received the letter I sent you byGavroche. It must have fallen into his hands, Cosette, and he came tothe barricade to save me. As it is his sole duty to be an angel, inpassing he saved others: he saved Javert. He drew me out of that gulfto give me to you; he carried me on his back through that frightfulsewer. Ah! I am a monstrous ingrate! Cosette, after having been yourprovidence, he was mine. Just imagine that there was a horrible pit, inwhich a man could be drowned a hundred times, drowned in mud, Cosette;and he carried me through it. I had feinted; I saw nothing, I heardnothing, I could not know anything about my own adventures. We aregoing to bring him back with us, and whether he is willing or not heshall never leave us again. I only hope he is at home! I only hope weshall find him! I will spend the rest of my life in revering him. Yes,it must have been so, Cosette, and Gavroche must have given him myletter. That explains everything. You understand."

  Cosette did not understand a word.

  "You are right," she said to him.

  In the mean while the hackney coach rolled along.

  CHAPTER V.

  A NIGHT BEHIND WHICH IS DAY.

  At the knock he heard at his door Jean Valjean turned round.

  "Come in," he said feebly.

  The door opened, and Cosette and Marius appeared. Cosette rushedinto the room. Marius remained on the threshold, leaning against thedoorpost.

  "Cosette!" said Jean Valjean, and he sat up in his chair, with his armsoutstretched and opened, haggard, livid, and sinister, but with animmense joy in his eyes. Cosette, suffocated with emotion, fell on JeanValjean's breast.

  "Father!" she said.

  Jean Valjean, utterly overcome, stammered, "Cosette! She--you--Madame!It is thou! Oh, my God!"

  And clasped in Cosette's arms, he exclaimed,--

  "It is you! You are here; you forgive me, then!"

  Marius, drooping his eyelids to keep his tears from flowing, advanced astep, and muttered between his lips, which were convulsively clenchedto stop his sobs,--

  "Father!"

  "And you too, you forgive me!" said Jean Valjean.

  Marius could not find a word to say, and Jean Valjean added, "Thankyou." Cosette took off her shawl, and threw her bonnet on the bed.

  "It is in my way," she said.

  And sitting down on the old man's knees, she parted his gray hair withan adorable movement, and kissed his forehead. Jean Valjean, who waswandering, let her do so. Cosette, who only comprehended very vaguely,redoubled her caresses, as if she wished to pay Marius's debt, and JeanValjean stammered,--

  "How foolish a man can be! I fancied that I should not see her again.Just imagine, Monsieur Pontmercy, that at the very moment when you camein I was saying, 'It is all over.' There is her little dress. 'I am awretched man, I shall not see Cosette again,' I was saying at the verymoment when you were coming up the stairs. What an idiot I was! A mancan be as idiotic as that! But people count without the good God, whosays, 'You imagine that you are going to be abandoned; no, things willnot happen like that. Down below there is a poor old fellow who hasneed of an angel.' And the angel comes, and he sees Cosette again, andhe sees his little Cosette again. Oh, I was very unhappy!"

  For a moment he was unable to speak; then he went on,--

  "I really wanted to see Cosette for a little while every now and then,for a heart requires a bone to gnaw. Still, I knew well that I wasin the way. I said to myself, 'They do not want you, so stop in yourcorner; a man has no right to pay everlasting visits,' Ah, blessed beGod! I see her again. Do you know, Cosette, that your husband is veryhandsome? What a pretty embroidered collar you are wearing; I like thatpattern. Your husband chose it, did he not? And then, you will needcashmere shawls. Monsieur Pontmercy, let me call her Cosette, it willnot be for long."

  And Cosette replied,--

  "How unkind to have left us like that! Where have you been to? Whywere you away so long? Formerly your absences did not last over threeor four days. I sent Nicolette, and the answer always was, 'He has notreturned.' When did you get back? Why did you not let us know? Are youaware that you are greatly changed? Oh, naughty papa, he has been ill,and we did not know it. Here, Marius, feel how cold his hand is!"

  "So you are here! So you forgive me, Monsieur Pontmercy?" Jean Valjeanrepeated.

  At this remark, all that was swelling in Marius's heart found a vent,and he burst forth,--

  "Do you hear, Cosette? He asks my pardon. And do you know what he didfor me, Cosette? He saved my life; he did more, he gave you to me, and,after saving me, and after giving you to me, Cosette, what did he dofor himself? He sacrificed himself. That is the man. And to me, whoam so ungrateful, so pitiless, so forgetful, and so guilty, he says,'Thank you!' Cosette, my whole life spent at this man's feet would betoo little. That barricade, that sewer, that furnace, that pit,--hewent through them all for me and for you, Cosette! He carried methrough every form of death, which he held at bay from me and acceptedfor himself. This man possesses every courage, every virtue, everyheroism, and every holiness, and he is an angel, Cosette!"

  "Stop, stop!" Jean Valjean said in a whisper; "why talk in that way?"

  "But why did you not tell me of it?" exclaimed Marius, with a passionin which was veneration; "it is your fault also. You save people'slives, and conceal the fact from them! You do more; under the pretextof unmasking yourself, you calumniate yourself. It is frightful!"

  "I told the truth," Jean Valjean replied.

  "No!" Marius retorted, "the truth is the whole truth, and you did nottell that. You were Monsieur Madeleine; why not tell me so? You savedJavert; why not tell me so? I owed you my life; why not tell me so?"

  "Because I thought like you, and found that you were right. It wasnecessary that I should leave you. Had you known of the sewer, youwould have compelled me to remain with you, and hence I held my tongue.Had I spoken, I should have been i
n the way."

  "Been in the way of whom,--of what?" Marius broke out. "Do you fancythat you are going to remain here? We mean to take you back with us.Oh, good heaven! when I think that I only learned all this by accident!We shall take you away with us, for you form a part of ourselves.You are her father and mine. You shall not spend another day in thisfrightful house, so do not fancy you will be here to-morrow."

  "To-morrow," said Jean Valjean, "I shall be no longer here; but I shallnot be at your house."

  "What do you mean?" Marius asked. "Oh, no! we shall not let you travelany more. You shall not leave us again, for you belong to us, and wewill not let you go."

  "This time it is for good," Cosette added. "We have a carriage below,and I mean to carry you off; if necessary, I shall employ force."

  And laughing, she feigned to raise the old man in her arms.

  "Your room is still all ready in our house," she went on. "If youonly knew how pretty the garden is just at present! The azaleas aregetting on splendidly; the walks are covered with river sand, and thereare little violet shells. You shall eat my strawberries, for it is Iwho water them. And no more Madame and no more Monsieur Jean, for welive in a republic, do we not, Marius? The programme is changed. Ifyou only knew, father, what a sorrow I had; a redbreast had made itsnest in a hole in the wall, and a horrible cat killed it for me. Mypoor, pretty little redbreast, that used to thrust its head out of itswindow and look at me! I cried at it, and could have killed the cat!But now, nobody weeps, everybody laughs, everybody is happy. You willcome with us; how pleased grandfather will be! You will have your bedin the garden, you will cultivate it, and we will see whether yourstrawberries are as fine as mine. And then, I will do all you wish, andyou will obey me."

  Jean Valjean listened without hearing; he heard the music of her voicerather than the meaning of her words, and one of those heavy tears,which are the black pearls of the soul, slowly collected in his eye. Hemurmured,--

  "The proof that God is good is that she is here."

  "My father!" said Cosette.

  Jean Valjean continued,--

  "It is true it would be charming to live together. They have theirtrees full of birds, and I should walk about with Cosette. It is sweetto be with persons who live, who say to each other good-morning, andcall each other in the garden. We should each cultivate a little bed;she would give me her strawberries to eat, and I would let her pick myroses. It would be delicious, but--"

  He broke off, and said gently, "It is a pity!"

  The tear did not fall, it was recalled, and Jean Valjean substituted asmile for it. Cosette took both the old man's hands in hers.

  "Good Heaven!" she said, "your hands have grown colder. Can you be ill?Are you suffering?"

  "I--no," Jean Valjean replied, "I am quite well. It is only--" Hestopped.

  "Only what?"

  "I am going to die directly."

  Marius and Cosette shuddered.

  "Die!" Marius exclaimed.

  "Yes; but that is nothing," said Jean Valjean.

  He breathed, smiled, and added,--

  "Cosette, you were talking to me; go on, speak again. Your redbreast isdead, then? Speak, that I may hear your voice."

  Marius, who was petrified, looked at the old man, and Cosette uttered apiercing shriek.

  "Father, father, you will live! You are going to live. I insist on yourliving, do you hear?"

  Jean Valjean raised his head to her with adoration.

  "Oh, yes, forbid me dying. Who knows? Perhaps I shall obey. I was onthe road to death when you arrived, but that stopped me. I fancied Iwas coming to life again."

  "You are full of strength and life," Marius exclaimed; "can you supposethat a man dies like that? You have known grief, but you shall know nomore. It is I who ask pardon of you, and on my knees! You are going tolive, and live with us, and live a long time. We will take you with us,and shall have henceforth but one thought, your happiness!"

  "You hear," said Cosette, who was all in tears. "Marius says that youwill not die."

  Jean Valjean continued to smile.

  "Even if you were to take me home with you, Monsieur Pontmercy, wouldthat prevent me being what I am? No. God has thought the same as youand I, and he does not alter his opinion. It is better for me to begone. Death is an excellent arrangement, and God knows better than wedo what we want. I am certain that it is right, that you should behappy, that Monsieur Pontmercy should have Cosette, that youth shouldespouse the dawn, that there should be around you, my children, lilacsand nightingales, that your life should be a lawn bathed in sunlight,that all the enchantments of Heaven should fill your souls, and that Iwho am good for nothing should now die. Come, be reasonable; nothingis possible now, and I fully feel that all is over. An hour ago I hada fainting-fit, and last night I drank the whole of that jug of water.How kind your husband is, Cosette! You are much better with him thanwith me!"

  There was a noise at the door; it was the physician come to pay hisvisit.

  "Good-day, and good-by, doctor," said Jean Valjean; "here are my poorchildren."

  Marius went up to the physician, and addressed but one word to him,"Sir?"--but in the manner of pronouncing it there was a whole question.The physician answered the question by an expressive glance.

  "Because things are unpleasant," said Jean Valjean, "that is no reasonto be unjust to God."

  There was a silence, and every breast was oppressed. Jean Valjeanturned to Cosette, and began contemplating her, as if he wished to takethe glance with him into eternity. In the deep shadow into which he hadalready sunk ecstasy was still possible for him in gazing at Cosette.The reflection of her sweet countenance illumined his pale face, forthe sepulchre may have its brilliancy. The physician felt his pulse.

  "Ah, it was you that he wanted," he said, looking at Marius andCosette.

  And bending down to Marius's ear, he whispered, "Too late!"

  Jean Valjean, almost without ceasing to regard Cosette, looked atMarius and the physician with serenity, and the scarcely articulatedwords could be heard passing his lips.

  "It is nothing to die, but it is frightful not to live."

  All at once he rose; such return of strength is at times a sequel ofthe death-agony. He walked with a firm step to the wall, thrust asideMarius and the doctor, who wished to help him, detached from the wallthe small copper crucifix hanging on it, returned to his seat with allthe vigor of full health, and said, as he laid the crucifix on thetable,--

  "There is the great Martyr."

  Then his chest sank in, his head vacillated, as if the intoxication ofthe tomb were seizing on him, and his hands, lying on his knees, beganpulling at the cloth of his trousers. Cosette supported his shoulders,and sobbed, and tried to speak to him, but was unable to do so. Throughthe words mingled with that lugubrious saliva which accompanies tears,such sentences as this could be distinguished: "Father, do not leaveus. Is it possible that we have only found you again to lose you?" Itmight be said that the death-agony moves like a serpent; it comes,goes, advances toward the grave, and then turns back toward life; thereis groping in the action of death. Jean Valjean, after this partialsyncope, rallied, shook his forehead as if to make the darkness falloff it, and became again almost lucid. He caught hold of Cosette'ssleeve and kissed it.

  "He is recovering, doctor, he is recovering," Marius cried.

  "You are both good," said Jean Valjean, "and I am going to tell youwhat causes me sorrow. It causes me sorrow, Monsieur Pontmercy, thatyou have refused to touch that money; but it is really your wife's. Iwill explain to you, my children, and that is why I am so glad to seeyou. Black jet comes from England, and white jet from Norway; it is allin that paper there, which you will read. I invented the substitutionof rolled-up snaps for welded snaps in bracelets; they are prettier,better, and not so dear. You can understand what money can be earned byit; so Cosette's fortune is really hers. I give you these details thatyour mind may be at rest!"

  The porter's wife had come up, and was peeping throu
gh the open door;the physician sent her off, but could not prevent the zealous old womanshouting to the dying man before she went,--

  "Will you have a priest?"

  "I have one," Jean Valjean answered.

  And he seemed to point with his finger to a spot over his head, whereit seemed as if he saw some one; it is probable, in truth, that theBishop was present at this death-scene. Cosette gently placed a pillowbehind Jean Valjean's loins, and he continued,--

  "Monsieur Pontmercy, have no fears, I conjure you. The six hundredthousand francs are really Cosette's! I should have thrown away mylife if you did not enjoy them! We had succeeded in making those beadsfamously, and we competed with what is called Berlin jewelry. Forinstance, the black beads of Germany cannot be equalled; for a gross,which contains twelve hundred well-cut beads, only costs three francs."

  * * * * *

  When a being who is dear to us is about to die, we regard him with agaze which grapples him, and would like to retain him. Cosette andMarius stood before him hand in hand, dumb through agony, not knowingwhat to say to death, despairing and trembling. With each momentJean Valjean declined and approached nearer to the dark horizon. Hisbreathing had become intermittent, and a slight rattle impeded it.He had a difficulty in moving his fore-arm, his feet had lost allmovement, and at the same time, as the helplessness of the limbs andthe exhaustion of the body increased, all the majesty of the soulascended and was displayed on his forehead. The light of the unknownworld was already visible in his eyeballs. His face grew livid andat the same time smiling; life was no longer there, but there wassomething else. His breath stopped, but his glance expanded; he was acorpse on whom wings could be seen. He made Cosette a sign to approach,and then Marius; it was evidently the last minute of the last hour, andhe began speaking to them in so faint a voice that it seemed to comefrom a distance, and it was as if there were a wall between them andhim.

  "Come hither, both of you; I love you dearly. Oh, how pleasant it isto die like this! You too love me, my Cosette; I felt certain that youhad always a fondness for the poor old man. How kind it was of youto place that pillow under my loins! You will weep for me a little,will you not? But not too much, for I do not wish you to feel realsorrow. You must amuse yourselves a great deal, my children. I forgotto tell you that more profit was made on the buckles without tonguesthan on all the rest; the gross cost two francs to produce, and soldfor sixty. It was really a good trade, so you must not feel surprisedat the six hundred thousand francs, Monsieur Pontmercy. It is honestmoney. You can be rich without any fear. You must have a carriage, nowand then a box at the opera, handsome ball-dresses, my Cosette, andgive good dinners to your friends, and be very happy. I was writingjust now to Cosette. She will find my letter. To her I leave the twocandlesticks on the mantel-piece. They are silver, but to me they aremade of gold, of diamonds; they change the candles placed in them intoconsecrated tapers. I know not whether the man who gave them to me issatisfied with me above, but I have done what I could. My children,you will not forget that I am a poor man, you will have me buried insome corner with a stone to mark the spot. That is my wish. No nameon the stone. If Cosette comes to see it now and then, it will causeme pleasure. And you, too, Monsieur Pontmercy. I must confess to youthat I did not always like you, and I ask your forgiveness. Now, sheand you are only one for me. I am very grateful to you, for I feelthat you render Cosette happy. If you only knew, Monsieur Pontmercy;her pretty pink cheeks were my joy, and when I saw her at all pale, Iwas miserable. There is in the chest of drawers a five-hundred-francnote. I have not touched it; it is for the poor, Cosette. Do you seeyour little dress there on the bed? Do you recognize it? And yet it wasonly ten years ago! How time passes! We have been very happy, and itis all over. Do not weep, my children; I am not going very far, and Ishall see you from there. You will only have to look when it is dark,and you will see me smile. Cosette, do you remember Montfermeil? Youwere in the wood and very frightened: do you remember when I took thebucket-handle? It was the first time I touched your pretty little hand.It was so cold. Ah, you had red hands in those days, Miss, but now theyare very white. And the large doll? Do you remember? You christenedit Catherine, and were sorry that you did not take it with you to theconvent. How many times you have made me laugh, my sweet angel! When ithad rained, you used to set straws floating in the gutter, and watchedthem go. One day I gave you a wicker battledore and a shuttlecock withyellow, blue, and green feathers. You have forgotten it. You were somerry when a little girl. You used to play. You would put cherriesin your ears. All these are things of the past. The forests throughwhich one has passed with one's child, the trees under which we havewalked, the convent in which we hid, the sports, the hearty laughter ofchildhood, are shadows. I imagined that all this belonged to me, andthat was my stupidity. Those Thénardiers were very wicked, but we mustforgive them. Cosette, the moment has arrived to tell you your mother'sname. It was Fantine. Remember this name,--Fantine. Fall on your kneesevery time that you pronounce it. She suffered terribly. She loved youdearly. She knew as much misery as you have known happiness. Such arethe distributions of God. He is above. He sees us all, and he knows allthat he does, amid his great stars. I am going away, my children. Loveeach other dearly and always. There is no other thing in the world butthat: love one another. You will sometimes think of the poor old manwho died here. Ah, my Cosette, it is not my fault that I did not seeyou every day, for it broke my heart. I went as far as the corner ofthe street, and must have produced a funny effect on the people who sawme pass, for I was like a madman, and even went out without my hat. Mychildren, I can no longer see very clearly. I had several things to sayto you, but no matter. Think of me a little. You are blessed beings. Iknow not what is the matter with me, but I see light. Come hither. Idie happy. Let me lay my hands on your beloved heads."

  Cosette and Marius fell on their knees, heartbroken and choked withsobs, each under one of Jean Valjean's hands. These august hands didnot move again. He had fallen back, and the light from the two candlesillumined him: his white face looked up to heaven, and he let Cosetteand Marius cover his hands with kisses.

  He was dead.

  The night was starless and intensely dark; doubtless some immense angelwas standing in the gloom, with outstretched wings, waiting for thesoul.

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE GRASS HIDES, AND THE RAIN EFFACES.

  There is at the cemetery of Père-Lachaise, in the vicinity of the poorside, far from the elegant quarter of this city of sepulchres, farfrom those fantastic tombs which display in the presence of eternitythe hideous fashions of death, in a deserted corner near an old wall,under a yew up which bind-weed climbs, and amid couch-grass and moss,a tombstone. This stone is no more exempt than the others from theresults of time, from mildew, lichen, and the deposits of birds.Water turns it green and the atmosphere blackens it. It is not in thevicinity of any path, and people do not care to visit that part becausethe grass is tall and they get their feet wet. When there is a littlesunshine the lizards disport on it; there is all around a rustling ofwild oats, and in spring linnets sing on the trees. This tombstone isquite bare. In cutting it, only the necessities of the tomb were takeninto consideration; no further care was taken than to make the stonelong enough and narrow enough to cover a man.

  No name can be read on it.

  Many, many years ago, however, a hand wrote on it in pencil theselines, which became almost illegible through rain and dust, and whichare probably effaced at the present day:--

  "Il dort. Quoique le sort fût pour lui bien étrange, Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n'eut pas son ange; La chose simplement d'elle-même arriva, Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s'en va."

  THE END.

 
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