Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the one hundred ninth chapter of Les Miserables.

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>> Brie Carlisle: Take it chapter by chapter one

fight at a time

so many adventures and mountains

we can climb

take it word for word, line by

line, one bite at a time.

>> Brie Carlisle: Welcome to Byte at a time books where we read you your

favorite classics one bite at a time. my

name is Bre Carlisle and I love to read and

wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

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>> Brie Carlisle: Values today well be

continuing.

Les Miserable by Victor Hugo

Book for a black

a mute pack chapter

one the zigzags of strategy

an observation here becomes necessary in

view of the pages which the reader is about to peruse,

and of others which will be met with. Further on.

The author of this book, who regrets the necessity of

mentioning himself, has been absent from Paris for many

years. Paris has been transformed since he

quitted it. A new city has arisen

which is, after a fashion, unknown to him.

There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris.

Paris is his minds natal city in

consequence of demolitions and reconstructions, the Paris

of his youth. That Paris which he bore away

religiously in his memory, is now a Paris of days

gone by. He must be permitted to speak of

that Paris as though it still existed. It is

possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and

says, in such a street there stands such and such a

house, neither street nor house will

any longer exist in that locality. Readers,

may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble

for his own part, he is unacquainted with the new Paris.

And he writes with the old Paris before his eyes. In an

allusion which is precious to him. It is a

delight to him to dream that there still lingers behind him

something of that which he beheld. When he was in his own

country. And that all has not

vanished so long as you go and come

in your native land. You imagine that those streets are a matter of

indifference to you. That those windows,

those roofs and those doors are nothing to you.

That those walls are strangers to you. That

those trees are merely the first encountered

haphazard. That those houses which you do not

enter are useless to you. That the pavements

which you tread are merely stones.

Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the

streets are dear to you. that you miss those roofs, those

doors. And that those walls are necessary to

you. Those, trees are well beloved by you.

That you entered those houses which you never entered every

day. And that youve left a part of your heart, of

your blood, of your soul in those pavements.

All those places which you no longer

beholden. Which you may never behold again,

perchance. And whose memory you have cherished.

Take on a melancholy charm. Recur to your

mind with the melancholy of an apparition. Make the

holy land visible to you. And are, so to

speak, the very form of France. And you love

them, and you call them up as they are, as

they were. And you persist in this, and you will

submit to no change. For you are attached to the

figure of your fatherland. As to the face of your mother.

May we then be permitted to speak of the past in the

present? That said, we beg the reader to take

note of it. And we continue.

Jean Valjean instantly quitted the boulevard. And plunged

into the streets. Taking the most intricate

lines which he could devise, returning on his track at

times to make sure that he was not being followed.

This maneuver is peculiar to the hunted stag

on, soil. Where an imprint of the track may be left.

This maneuver possesses, among other advantages.

That of deceiving the huntsmen and the dogs. By throwing

them on the wrong scent. In venery. This is called

false reimbursement. The moon was full

that night. Jean Valjean was not sorry for

this. The moon, still very

close to the horizon. Cast green masses of light and

shadow in the streets. Jean Valjean could

glide along close to the houses on the dark side. And yet keep

watch on the light side. He did not,

perhaps, take sufficiently into consideration the fact that the dark

side escaped him. Still in the

deserted lanes which lie near the rue Polaviu.

He thought he felt certain that no one was following

him. Cosette walked on without

asking any questions. The sufferings of the

first six years of her life. Had instilled something passive into her

nature. Moreover,

and this is a remark to which we shall frequently have occasion to

recur, she had grown used, without being

herself aware of it. To the peculiarities of this good

man. And to the freaks of destiny.

and then she was with him, and she felt safe.

Jean Valjean knew no more where he was going than did

Cosette. He trusted in God, and she

trusted in him. It seemed as though he also

were clinging to the hand of someone greater than himself.

He thought he felt a being leading him. Though

invisible, however, he had no settled

idea, no plan, no

project. He was not even absolutely sure that it

was Javert. And then it might have been

Javert. Without Javert knowing that he was Jean

Valjean. Was not he disguised?

Was not he believed to be dead?

Still, queer things had been going on for several days.

He wanted no more of them. He was determined

not to return to the Gorbeau house. Like the wild

animal chased from its lair. He was seeking a hole in which he might

hide. Until he could find one where he might dwell.

Jean Valjean described many in varied labyrinths. In a

moatvattard quarter which was already asleep. so

the discipline of the Middle Ages and the yoke of the curfew still

existed. He combined in various

manners with cunning strategy. The rue censere

and the rue Quebeau. The rue du boutoir Saint

Victor and the rue des puits lermente.

There are lodging houses in this locality.

But he did not even enter one. Finding nothing which suited

him. He had no doubt that if anyone had

chanced to be upon his track, they would have lost it.

00 struck from Saint Etin Dumont, he

was traversing the rue des Pontois. In front of the office of

the commissary of police. Situated at number

14. A few moments later,

the instinct of which we have spoken above made him turn

round. At that moment, he saw

distinctly, thanks to the commissarys lantern

which betrayed them. Three men who were following

him closely pass one after the

other under that lantern on the dark side of the

street. One of the three entered the alley leading

to the commissarys house. The one who marched at

their head struck him as decidedly suspicious.

Come, child, he said to Cosette, and

he made haste to quit the rue Pontois. He

took a circuit, turned into the passage des

patriarchs, which was closed on account of the hour,

strode along the rue de l'Epaubois and the rue de la

Bratie and plunged into the rue des

Postes. At that time

there was a square formed by the intersection of streets

where the college Rollins stands today and where the rue Neuille

Saint Genevieve turns off. It is

understood, of course, that the rue Neuille of Saint Genevieve is an old

street and that a posting chaise does not pass through

the rude postis once in ten years.

In the 13th century, this rudes postis was inhabited

by potters, and its real name is Rudis

Potts. The moon, cast a livid

light into this open space. Jean Valjean

went into ambush in a doorway, calculating

that if the men were still following him, he could not fail

to get a good look at them as they traversed this illuminated

space. In point of fact,

three minutes had not elapsed when the men made their appearance.

There were four of them now. All were

tall, dressed in long brown coats

with round hats and huge cudgels in their hands.

Their great stature in their vast fists rendered them no

less alarming than did their sinister stride through the darkness.

One would have pronounced them four specters disguised as

bourgois. They halted in the middle

of the space and formed a group like men in

consultation. They had an air of

indecision. The one who appeared to be their leader

turned round and pointed hastily with his right hand

in the direction which Jean Valjean had taken.

Another seemed to indicate the contrary direction with considerable

obstinacy at the

moment when the first man wheeled round, the moon fell full in

his face. Jean Valjean

recognized Javert perfectly.

Thank you for joining Bite at a time books today while we

read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlisle, and

I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite

of Les Miserables.

>> Brie Carlisle: Dont forget to sign up for our

newsletter@biteaudatimebooks.com comma and

check out the shop. You can check out the show notes

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>> Brie Carlisle: take a look and a broken let's

see what we can find

take it chapter by chapter, one

night at a time

so many adventures and

mountains we can climb

line by line, one bite at a time.