ed. 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--twelve leagues on foot--and
I am so hungry. Can I stay?"

"Mme. Magloire," said the bishop, "put on another plate."

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. Will you read it?
See, here is what they have put on my passport: Jean Valjean, a
liberated convict; has been nineteen years in the galleys; five years
for burglary; fourteen years for having attempted four times to
escape. This man is very dangerous. There you have it! Everybody has
thrust me out; will you receive me? Is this an inn? Can you give me
something to eat and a place to sleep? Have you a stable?"

"Mme. Magloire," said the bishop, "put some sheets on the bed in the
alcove."

The bishop turned to the man:

"Monsieur, sit down and warm yourself; we are going to take supper
presently, and your bed will be made ready while you sup."

At last the man quite understood; his face, the expression of which
till then had been gloomy, and hard, now expressed stupefaction, doubt
and joy, and became absolutely wonderful. He began to stutter like a
madman.

"True? What? You will keep me? you won't drive me away--a convict? You
call me monsieur and don't say, 'Get out, dog!' as everybody else
does. I shall have a supper! a bed like other people, with mattress
and sheets--a bed! It is nineteen years that I have not slept on a
bed. You are good people! Besides, I have money; I will pay well. I
beg your pardon, M. Innkeeper, what is your name? I will pay all you
say. You are a fine man. You are an innkeeper, is it not so?"

"I am a priest who lives here," said the bishop.

"A priest," said the man. "Oh, noble priest! Then you do not ask any
money?"

"No," said the bishop, "keep your money. How much have you?"

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous," said the man.

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous. And how long did it
take you to earn that?"

"Nineteen year