Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [45]
“It is not that.”
“What then?”
“You have money—”
“Yes,” said the man.
“And I,” said the host; “I have no room.”
“Well, put me in the stable,” quietly replied the man.
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because the horses take all the room.”
“Well,” responded the man, “a corner in the garret; a truss of straw: we will see about that after dinner.”
“I cannot give you any dinner.”
This declaration, made in a measured but firm tone, appeared serious to the traveller. He got up.
“Ah, bah! but I am dying with hunger. I have walked since sunrise; I have travelled twelve leagues. I will pay, and I want something to eat.”
“I have nothing,” said the host.
The man burst into a laugh, and turned towards the fireplace and the ranges.
“Nothing! and all that?”
“All that is reserved.”
“By whom?”
“By those persons, the wagoners.”
“How many are there of them?”
“Twelve.”
“There is enough there for twenty.”
“They have ordered and paid for it all in advance.”
The man sat down again and said, without raising his voice: “I am at an inn. I am hungry, and I shall stay.”
The host bent down his ear, and said in a voice which made him tremble:
“Go away!”
At these words the traveller, who was bent over, poking some embers in the fire with the iron-shod end of his stick, turned suddenly around, and opened his mouth, as if to reply, when the host looking steadily at him, added in the same low tone: “Stop, no more of that. Shall I tell you your name? your name is Jean Valjean, now shall I tell you who you are? When I saw you enter, I suspected something. I sent to the mayor’s office, and here is the reply. Can you read?” So saying, he held towards him the open paper, which had just come from the mayor. The man cast a look upon it; the innkeeper, after a short silence, said: “It is my custom to be polite to all: Go!”
The man bowed his head, picked up his knapsack, and went out.
He took the main street; he walked at random, slinking near the houses like a sad and humiliated man: he did not once turn around. If he had turned, he would have seen the innkeeper of the Croix de Colbas, standing in his doorway with all his guests, and the passers-by gathered about him, speaking excitedly, and pointing him out; and from the looks of fear and distrust which were exchanged, he would have guessed that before long his arrival would be the talk of the whole town.
He saw nothing of all this: people overwhelmed with trouble do not look behind; they know only too well that misfortune follows them.
Jean Valjean wanders until he finds another tavern, but word of his criminal history has spread, and he is turned away there too. He asks to sleep in the prison, but is refused; he is driven from a private home at gunpoint, and refused even a glass of water. As night falls, he takes refuge in a small hut, but it proves to be a dog kennel, and when the dog returns, it bites and scratches him. Finally he meets an old woman in front of the church, and she directs him to Bishop Myriel by saying simply, “Knock at that door there.”
It was about eight o‘clock in the evening: as he did not know the streets, he walked at random.
So he came to the prefecture, then to the seminary; on passing by the Cathedral square, he shook his fist at the church.
At the corner of this square stands a printing-office; there were first printed the proclamations of the emperor, and the Imperial Guard to the army, brought from the island of Elba, and dictated by Napoleon himself.
Exhausted with fatigue, and hoping for nothing better, he lay down on a stone bench in front of this printing-office.
Just then an old woman came out of the church. She saw the man lying there in the dark and said:
“What are you doing there, my friend?”
He replied harshly, and with anger in his tone:
“You see, my good woman, I am going to sleep.”
The good woman, who really merited the name, was Madame la Mar quise de R—.
“Upon the bench?” said she.
“For nineteen years I have had a wooden mattress,” said the man; “to-night I have a stone one.”
“You have been a