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Updated: May 4, 2025
If it had occurred to them to separate into two squads, and to go in both directions, Jean Valjean would have been captured. All hung on that thread. It is probable that the instructions of the prefecture, foreseeing a possibility of combat and insurgents in force, had forbidden the patrol to part company. The patrol resumed its march, leaving Jean Valjean behind it.
That sinister nettle had loved and protected that lily. On the following day, at nightfall, Jean Valjean knocked at the carriage gate of the Gillenormand house. It was Basque who received him. Basque was in the courtyard at the appointed hour, as though he had received his orders. It sometimes happens that one says to a servant: "You will watch for Mr. So and So, when he arrives."
But the gut of the Petite-Truanderie the entrance to which was in the vicinity of the Corinthe wine-shop has never communicated with the sewer of the Rue Saint-Denis; it ended at the Montmartre sewer, and it was in this that Jean Valjean was entangled. There opportunities of losing oneself abound. The Montmartre sewer is one of the most labyrinthine of the ancient network.
There was a touch of stagnant oblivion in that street. Jean Valjean drew his breath once more there. How could he be found there? His first care was to place the inseparable beside him. He slept well. Night brings wisdom; we may add, night soothes. On the following morning he awoke in a mood that was almost gay.
While he was meditating, Toussaint entered. Jean Valjean rose and asked her: "In what quarter is it? Do you know?" Toussaint was struck dumb, and could only answer him: "What is it, sir?" Jean Valjean began again: "Did you not tell me that just now that there is fighting going on?" "Ah! yes, sir," replied Toussaint. "It is in the direction of Saint-Merry."
But they remember you! You are an ingrate!" The events of which we have just beheld the reverse side, so to speak, had come about in the simplest possible manner. When Jean Valjean, on the evening of the very day when Javert had arrested him beside Fantine's death-bed, had escaped from the town jail of M. sur M., the police had supposed that he had betaken himself to Paris.
"He answers well." Jean Valjean had not uttered a single word. The prioress looked attentively at Cosette, and said half aloud to the vocal mother: "She will grow up ugly." The two mothers consulted for a few moments in very low tones in the corner of the parlor, then the prioress turned round and said: "Father Fauvent, you will get another knee-cap with a bell. Two will be required now."
Suddenly Jean Valjean replaced his cap on his brow; then stepped rapidly past the bed, without glancing at the Bishop, straight to the cupboard, which he saw near the head; he raised his iron candlestick as though to force the lock; the key was there; he opened it; the first thing which presented itself to him was the basket of silverware; he seized it, traversed the chamber with long strides, without taking any precautions and without troubling himself about the noise, gained the door, re-entered the oratory, opened the window, seized his cudgel, bestrode the window-sill of the ground-floor, put the silver into his knapsack, threw away the basket, crossed the garden, leaped over the wall like a tiger, and fled.
Marius, if we must recognize and even insist upon the fact, while interrogating Jean Valjean to such a point that Jean Valjean had said: "You are confessing me," had not, nevertheless, put to him two or three decisive questions. It was not that they had not presented themselves to his mind, but that he had been afraid of them. The Jondrette attic? The barricade? Javert?
He makes use of the tool which he wills. He is not responsible to men. Do we know how God sets about the work? Jean Valjean had labored over Cosette. He had, to some extent, made that soul. That was incontestable. Well, what then? The workman was horrible; but the work was admirable. God produces his miracles as seems good to him.
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