e dog bit me and drove me off as though he had been
a man. I went to the fields to sleep beneath the stars; there were no
stars. I returned to the city. Yonder, in the square, a good woman
tapped me on the shoulder and told me to knock here, and I have knocked.
What is this place? Do you keep an inn? Are you willing that I should
remain?"

"Ah, Madam Magloire," said the Bishop, "you will set another place."

"No, that's not it. I'm a galley-slave--a convict--Here's my yellow
passport, read that, but no--I can read, I learned in the galleys.
[Reads.] 'Jean Valjean, discharged convict, has been nineteen years in
the galleys. Five years for burglary and theft and fourteen years for
having attempted to escape on four different occasions. He--is--a
very--dangerous--man'--There, that's what bars me out. Will you give me
something to eat and a bed? Have you a stable?"

"Madam Magloire, you will put white sheets on the bed in the alcove--Now
sit down, sir, and warm yourself. We will sup in a few moments and your
bed will be prepared while we are supping."

"What, you call me sir--You do not drive me out? A bed, with sheets,
like the rest of the world? It has been nineteen years since I slept in
a bed. Pardon me, monsieur inn-keeper,--what is your name?"

"I am only an old priest who lives here."

"Then you will not demand my money of me?"

"No--keep your money. How much have you?"

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous."

"How long did it take you to earn that?"

"Nineteen years."

"Nineteen years! Madam Magloire, you will place the silver fork and
spoon as near the fire as possible. The north wind blows harsh on the
Alps to-night. You must be cold, sir."

"Ah, Monsieur le Cure, you do not despise me? You receive me into your
house? You light your candles for me? Yet I have not concealed from you
who I am."

"You need not tell me who you are. This is not my house. This is the
house of Jesus Christ. That door does not ask of him who enters, whether
he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry,
you are welcome. But do not thank me; do not say that I receive you into
my house. You are more at home here than I am. Everything in this house
belongs to you. Besides, what need have I to know your name, for I knew
that before you told me."

"What! You knew what I was called?"

"Yes, you are called 'my brother.'"

"Oh--stop! I--was very hungry when I came in here, but now--my--my
hung