d a way of substituting for slides of soldered sheet
iron, slides of iron laid together. It is prettier, better and less
costly. You will understand how much money can be made in that way. So
Cosette's fortune is really hers. I give you these details, in order
that your mind may be set at rest."

The portress had come upstairs and was gazing in at the half-open door.
The doctor dismissed her.

But he could not prevent this zealous woman from exclaiming to the dying
man before she disappeared: "Would you like a priest?"

"I have had one," replied Jean Valjean.

And with his finger he seemed to indicate a point above his head where
one would have said that he saw some one.

It is probable, in fact, that the Bishop was present at this death
agony.

Cosette gently slipped a pillow under his loins.

Jean Valjean resumed:

"Have no fear, Monsieur Pontmercy, I adjure you. The six hundred
thousand francs really belong to Cosette. My life will have been wasted
if you do not enjoy them! We managed to do very well with those glass
goods. We rivalled what is called Berlin jewellery. However, we could
not equal the black glass of England. A gross, which contains twelve
hundred very well cut grains, only costs three francs."

When a being who is dear to us is on the point of death, we gaze upon
him with a look which clings convulsively to him and which would fain
hold him back.

Cosette gave her hand to Marius, and both, mute with anguish, not
knowing what to say to the dying man, stood trembling and despairing
before him.

Jean Valjean sank moment by moment. He was failing; he was drawing near
to the gloomy horizon.

His breath had become intermittent; a little rattling interrupted it.
He found some difficulty in moving his forearm, his feet had lost all
movement, and in proportion as the wretchedness of limb and feebleness
of body increased, all the majesty of his soul was displayed and spread
over his brow. The light of the unknown world was already visible in his
eyes.

His face paled and smiled. Life was no longer there, it was something
else.

His breath sank, his glance grew grander. He was a corpse on which the
wings could be felt.

He made a sign to Cosette to draw near, then to Marius; the last minute
of the last hour had, evidently, arrived.

He began to speak to them in a voice so feeble that it seemed to come
from a distance, and one would have said that a wall now rose between
them and him.

"Dr