LES MISERABLES (Illustrated Edition). Victor Hugo

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      He had hardly finished when a loud noise became audible on the staircase. They heard a tumult of ascending footsteps, and the old portress saying in her loudest and most piercing tones:—

      “My good sir, I swear to you by the good God, that not a soul has entered this house all day, nor all the evening, and that I have not even left the door.”

      A man responded:—

      “But there is a light in that room, nevertheless.”

      They recognized Javert’s voice.

      The chamber was so arranged that the door in opening masked the corner of the wall on the right. Jean Valjean blew out the light and placed himself in this angle. Sister Simplice fell on her knees near the table.

      The door opened.

      Javert entered.

      The whispers of many men and the protestations of the portress were audible in the corridor.

      The nun did not raise her eyes. She was praying.

      The candle was on the chimney-piece, and gave but very little light.

      Javert caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement.

      It will be remembered that the fundamental point in Javert, his element, the very air he breathed, was veneration for all authority. This was impregnable, and admitted of neither objection nor restriction. In his eyes, of course, the ecclesiastical authority was the chief of all; he was religious, superficial and correct on this point as on all others. In his eyes, a priest was a mind, who never makes a mistake; a nun was a creature who never sins; they were souls walled in from this world, with a single door which never opened except to allow the truth to pass through.

      On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to retire.

      But there was also another duty which bound him and impelled him imperiously in the opposite direction. His second movement was to remain and to venture on at least one question.

      This was Sister Simplice, who had never told a lie in her life. Javert knew it, and held her in special veneration in consequence.

      “Sister,” said he, “are you alone in this room?”

      A terrible moment ensued, during which the poor portress felt as though she should faint.

      The sister raised her eyes and answered:—

      “Yes.”

      “Then,” resumed Javert, “you will excuse me if I persist; it is my duty; you have not seen a certain person—a man—this evening? He has escaped; we are in search of him—that Jean Valjean; you have not seen him?”

      The sister replied:—

      “No.”

      She lied. She had lied twice in succession, one after the other, without hesitation, promptly, as a person does when sacrificing herself.

      “Pardon me,” said Javert, and he retired with a deep bow.

      O sainted maid! you left this world many years ago; you have rejoined your sisters, the virgins, and your brothers, the angels, in the light; may this lie be counted to your credit in paradise!

      The sister’s affirmation was for Javert so decisive a thing that he did not even observe the singularity of that candle which had but just been extinguished, and which was still smoking on the table.

      An hour later, a man, marching amid trees and mists, was rapidly departing from M. sur M. in the direction of Paris. That man was Jean Valjean. It has been established by the testimony of two or three carters who met him, that he was carrying a bundle; that he was dressed in a blouse. Where had he obtained that blouse? No one ever found out. But an aged workman had died in the infirmary of the factory a few days before, leaving behind him nothing but his blouse. Perhaps that was the one.

      One last word about Fantine.

      We all have a mother,—the earth. Fantine was given back to that mother.

      The cure thought that he was doing right, and perhaps he really was, in reserving as much money as possible from what Jean Valjean had left for the poor. Who was concerned, after all? A convict and a woman of the town. That is why he had a very simple funeral for Fantine, and reduced it to that strictly necessary form known as the pauper’s grave.

      So Fantine was buried in the free corner of the cemetery which belongs to anybody and everybody, and where the poor are lost. Fortunately, God knows where to find the soul again. Fantine was laid in the shade, among the first bones that came to hand; she was subjected to the promiscuousness of ashes. She was thrown into the public grave. Her grave resembled her bed.

      [THE END OF VOLUME I. “FANTINE”] Enlarge

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VOLUME II.—COSETTE

       Table of Contents

       BOOK FIRST.—WATERLOO

       CHAPTER I—WHAT IS MET WITH ON THE WAY FROM NIVELLES

       CHAPTER II—HOUGOMONT

       CHAPTER III—THE EIGHTEENTH OF JUNE, 1815

       CHAPTER IV—A

       CHAPTER V—THE QUID OBSCURUM OF BATTLES

       CHAPTER VI—FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON

       CHAPTER VII—NAPOLEON IN A GOOD HUMOR

       CHAPTER VIII—THE EMPEROR PUTS A QUESTION TO THE GUIDE LACOSTE

       CHAPTER IX—THE UNEXPECTED

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