Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the one hundred forty-fourth chapter of Les Miserables.

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>> Brie Carlisle: Take it chapter by chapter one

fight M 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 byte at a time. my name is

Bre Carlisle and I love to read and wanted to

share my passion with listeners like you. If you

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>> Brie Carlisle: Values today well be

continuing.

les miserables by Victor Hugo

chapter seven in which will be found

the origin of the saying dont lose

the card. This

is what had taken place above the coffin in which lay Jean

Valjean. When the hearse had driven off,

when the priest and the choir boy had entered the carriage again

and taken their departure, Fauchelevert,

who had not taken his eyes from the gravedigger, saw the

latter bend over and grasp his shovel, which was

sticking upright in the heap of dirt.

Then Fauchelevert took a supreme resolve. He

placed himself between the grave and the gravedigger,

crossed his arms and said.

>> Brie Carlisle: I am the one to pay.

>> Brie Carlisle: A gravedigger stared at him in amazement.

>> Brie Carlisle: And replied, whats that,

peasant?

>> Brie Carlisle: Fauchelevent repeated.

>> Brie Carlisle: I am the one who pays

what? For the wine.

>> Brie Carlisle: What wine?

>> Brie Carlisle: that Argentil wine.

>> Brie Carlisle: Where is the Argentil?

>> Brie Carlisle: At the bon coing.

>> Brie Carlisle: Go to the devil, said the grave.

>> Brie Carlisle: Digger, and he flung a shovelful of earth on the

coffin. The coffin gave back a hollow

sound. Hochulaver felt himself stagger

and on the point of falling headlong into the grave himself.

He shouted in a voice in which the strangling sound of the death

rattle began to mingle.

>> Brie Carlisle: Comrade, before the bon coin is shut.

>> Brie Carlisle: The gravedigger took some more earth on his shovel.

Fauchelevert continued, I will pay.

And he seized the mans arm.

>> Brie Carlisle: Listen to me, comrade. I am, the convent

gravedigger. I have come to help you. It is

a business which can be performed at night. Let us

begin, then, by going for a drink.

>> Brie Carlisle: And, as he spoke and clung to this desperate

insistence, this melancholy reflection occurred to

him.

>> Brie Carlisle: And if he drinks, will he get

drunk?

>> Brie Carlisle: Provincial, said the man.

>> Brie Carlisle: If you positively insist upon it, I

consent. We will drink after

work. Never before.

>> Brie Carlisle: And he flourished his shovel briskly. Poche

levert held him back.

>> Brie Carlisle: It is argento wine at six.

>> Brie Carlisle: Oh, come, said the gravedigger.

>> Brie Carlisle: You are a bell ringer. Ding dong,

ding dong. Thats all you know how to say? Go

hang yourself.

>> Brie Carlisle: Andy threw in a second shovelful.

Fauschlevere had reached a point where he no longer knew what he was

saying.

>> Brie Carlisle: Come along and drink, he cried, since it

is I who pays the bill.

>> Brie Carlisle: When we have put the child to.

>> Brie Carlisle: Bed, said the gravedigger, he flung in a

third shovelful. Donnie thrust a shovel

into the earth and added, its cold

tonight, you see.

>> Brie Carlisle: And the corpse would shriek out after us if we were to plant her

there without a coverlet.

>> Brie Carlisle: At that moment, as he loaded his shovel, the gravedigger bent

over, and the pocket of his waistcoat gaped.

Faucheleverts wild gaze fell mechanically into that

pocket. And there it stopped. The sun was

not yet hidden behind the horizon. There was still

light enough to enable him to distinguish something white. At the

bottom of that yawning pocket, the sum total of

lightning that the eye of a picard peasant can contain traversed

Faucheleverts pupils. An idea had

just occurred to him. He thrust his hand into the pocket

from behind, without the gravedigger, who was wholly

absorbed in his shovelful of earth, observing it,

and pulled out the white object which lay at the bottom of

it. The man sent a fourth shovelful

tumbling into the grave. Just as he turned

round to get the fifth, fuchslove looked calmly at him.

>> Brie Carlisle: And said, by the way, you new

man, have you your cardinal?

>> Brie Carlisle: The gravedigger paused.

>> Brie Carlisle: What card?

>> Brie Carlisle: The sun is on the point of setting.

>> Brie Carlisle: Thats good. It is going to put on its

nightcap.

>> Brie Carlisle: The gate of the cemetery will close immediately.

>> Brie Carlisle: Well, what then?

>> Brie Carlisle: Have you your card?

>> Brie Carlisle: Ah, my card, said the gravedigger.

And he fumbled in his pocket. Having searched

one pocket, he proceeded to search the other. He

passed on to his fobs, exploring the first, returning to the

second. Oh, I know, said he.

>> Brie Carlisle: I have not my card. I must have forgotten

it.

>> Brie Carlisle: 15 francs fine, said Fauchelevert.

>> Brie Carlisle: The gravedigger turned green. Green is

the pallor of livid people.

>> Brie Carlisle: Ah, Jesus. Mon dieu, burg Basiloon.

>> Brie Carlisle: He exclaimed.

>> Brie Carlisle: 15 francs fine.

>> Brie Carlisle: Three pieces of 100 sous.

>> Brie Carlisle: said Fauchelevert. The gravedigger dropped

his shovel. Faucheleverts turn had

come.

>> Brie Carlisle: Ah,

>> Brie Carlisle: Come now, conscript, said Fauchelevert.

>> Brie Carlisle: None of this despair. There is no question

of committing suicide and benefiting the grave.

15 francs is 15 francs. And

besides, you may not be able to pay it. I am an

old hand.

>> Brie Carlisle: You are a new one.

>> Brie Carlisle: I know all the ropes and the devices.

I, will give you some friendly advice. One thing

is clear. The sun is on the point of setting. It

is touching the dome now. The cemetery will be closed

in five minutes more.

>> Brie Carlisle: That is true, replied the man.

>> Brie Carlisle: Five minutes more and you will not have time to fill the

grave. It is as hollow as the devil, this

grave. And to reach the gate in season to pass it before

it is shut.

>> Brie Carlisle: That is true.

>> Brie Carlisle: In that case, a fine of 15 francs.

>> Brie Carlisle: 15 francs?

>> Brie Carlisle: But you have the time. Where do you live?

>> Brie Carlisle: A couple of steps from the barrier. A quarter of an

hour from here. Number 87, rue des

Vaudreuil.

>> Brie Carlisle: You have just time to get out by taking to your heels at your

best speed.

>> Brie Carlisle: That is exactly so.

>> Brie Carlisle: Once outside the gate, you gallop home, you get your

card, you return. A cemetery porter admits

you as, you have your card. There will be nothing to pay,

and you will bury your corpse. I'll watch it for you in

the meantime, so that it shall not run away.

>> Brie Carlisle: I am indebted to you for my.

>> Brie Carlisle: Life, peasant de camp, said

Fauchelevert.

>> Brie Carlisle: The gravedigger, overwhelmed with gratitude, shook his hand

and set off on a run. When the man had disappeared

in the thicket, Fauchelevert listened until he heard his footsteps

die away in the distance. Then he leaned over the grave

and.

>> Brie Carlisle: Said in a low tone, Father Madeleine.

>> Brie Carlisle: There was no reply. Fauchelevert was seized with

a shudder. He had tumbled rather than climbed into

the grave, flung himself on the head of the coffin and

cried, are you there?

Silence in the coffin. Fauchelevert,

hardly able to draw his breath for trembling, seized his

cold chisel and his hammer and pried up the coffin

lid. Jean Valjeans face appeared in the

twilight it was pale and his eyes

were closed. Faucheleverts hair

rose upright on his head. He sprang to his feet,

then fell back against the side of the grave, ready to swoon. On the

coffin, he stared at Jean

Valjean. Jean Valjean lay there,

pallid and motionless. Fauchelevent murmured in

a voice as faint.

>> Brie Carlisle: As a sigh, he is dead.

>> Brie Carlisle: And drawing himself up and folding his arms with

such violence that his clenched fists came in contact with his

shoulders, he cried, and this is the way.

>> Brie Carlisle: I save his life.

>> Brie Carlisle: Then, the poor man fell to sobbing. He

soliloquized the while, for it is an error to suppose that the

soliloquy is unnatural. Powerful emotion

often talks loud.

>> Brie Carlisle: It is Father mestines fault. Why did that

fool die? What need was there for him to give up the

ghost at the very moment when no one was expecting it?

It is he who has killed monster. Madeleine.

Father. Madeline. He is in the coffin.

>> Brie Carlisle: It is quite handy.

>> Brie Carlisle: All is over now. Is there any sense in these

things? Oh, My God. He is dead.

Well. And this little girl, what am I to do with her? What

will the fruit seller say? The idea of its being

possible for a man like that to die like this. When I

think how he put himself under that cart. Father

Madeleine. Father Madeleine. Pardeen.

>> Brie Carlisle: He was suffocated. I said so.

>> Brie Carlisle: He wouldnt believe me.

>> Brie Carlisle: Well, a pretty trick to play. He is dead.

That good man. The very best man out of all the good gods, good

folks and his little girl.

In the first place, I wont go back there myself. I

shall stay here. After having done such a thing as that.

Whats the use of being two old men if we are two old

fools? But in the first place, how did he manage to

enter the convent? That was the beginning of it all.

One should not do such things. Father Madeleine.

Father Madeleine. Father Madeleine. Madeleine. Monsieur

Madeleine. Monsieur le Maire. He

does not hear me. Now get out of this

scrape if you can.

>> Brie Carlisle: And he tore his hair. A grating sound

became audible through the trees in the distance. It

was a cemetery gate closing. Fauchelevert

bent over Jean Valjean, and all at once he bounded

back and recoiled.

So far as the limits of a grave permit, Jean

Valjeans eyes were open, and gazing at him

to see a corpse is alarming. To behold a

resurrection is almost as much so.

Fauchelevert became like stone

pale, haggard, overwhelmed by all these

excesses of emotion, not knowing whether he had to do with

a living man or a dead one. And staring at Jean

Valjean, who was gazing at him. I

fell asleep, said Jean Valjean,

and he raised himself to a sitting posture.

Rochellevert fell on his knees.

>> Brie Carlisle: Just good virgin, how you frightened me.

>> Brie Carlisle: Then he sprang to his feet and.

>> Brie Carlisle: Cried, thanks, Father Madeleine.

>> Brie Carlisle: Jean Valjean had merely fainted. The fresh air

had revived him. Joy is the ebb of

terror. Fauchele found almost as much

difficulty in recovering himself as Jean Valjean

had.

>> Brie Carlisle: So you are not dead. Oh, how wise

you are. I called you so much that you came back.

When I saw your eyes shut, I said, good. There he is.

Stifled. I should have gone raving mad.

Mad enough for a straightjacket? It would have put me in the

bison tear. What do you suppose I should have done if you had

been dead? And your little girl? Theres,

that fruit seller, she would never have understood it. The

child is thrust into your arms, and then the

grandfather is dead.

>> Brie Carlisle: What a story.

>> Brie Carlisle: Good saints. The paradise. What a tale. Ah, you

are alive. Thats the best of it.

>> Brie Carlisle: I am cold, said Jean Valjean.

Mister Marc recalled Fauchelevert thoroughly to reality, and

there was pressing need of it. The souls of these two

men were troubled even when they had recovered themselves,

although they did not realize it. And there was about them

something uncanny, which was a sinister bewilderment inspired

by the place.

>> Brie Carlisle: Let us get out of here quickly, exclaimed

Fauchelevert.

>> Brie Carlisle: He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a gourd with which he had

provided himself.

>> Brie Carlisle: But first take a drop, said he.

>> Brie Carlisle: The flask finished what the fresh air had begun. Jean

Valjean swallowed a mouthful of brandy and regained full possession

of his faculties. He got out of the coffin

and helped Fauchelevert to nail on the lid again.

Three minutes later they were out of the grave.

Moreover, Fauchelevert was perfectly composed.

He took his time. The cemetery was

closed. The arrival of the gravedigger grabbeer

was not to be apprehended. That conscript

was at home, busily engaged in looking for his card

and had some difficulty in finding it in his lodgings, since

it was in fochleverts pocket. Without a

card, he could not get back into the cemetery.

Fauchelevert took the shovel and Jean Valjean the

pickaxe, and together they buried the empty

coffin. When the grave was full, Fauchelevert

said to Jean Valjean, let us go.

>> Brie Carlisle: I will keep the shovel. Do you carry off the

mattock?

>> Brie Carlisle: Night was falling. Jean Valjean

experienced some difficulty in moving and in

walking. He had stiffened himself in that coffin

and had become a little like a corpse. The

rigidity of death had seized upon him between those four

planks he had, in a manner to thaw

out from the tomb.

>> Brie Carlisle: You are benumbed, said Fauchelevert.

It is a pity that I have a game leg,

for otherwise we might step out briskly.

>> Brie Carlisle: Bah, replied Jean Valjean. Four

pieces will put life into my legs once more.

They set off by the alleys through which the hearse had passed.

On arriving before the closed gate in the porters

pavilion, Pochele Vers, who held the

gravediggers card in his hand, dropped it into the box.

The porter pulled the rope. The gate opened and they went

out.

>> Brie Carlisle: How well everything is going, said

Fauchelevert. What a capital idea that was

of yours, Father Madeleine.

>> Brie Carlisle: They passed the vaudreuil barrier in the simplest manner in the

world. In the neighborhood of the cemetery, a

shovel and pick are equal to two passports.

The rue vaudrard was deserted.

Father Madeleine, said Fauchelevert as they went

along and raising his eyes to the

houses.

>> Brie Carlisle: Your eyes are better than mine. Show me

number 87.

>> Brie Carlisle: Here it is, said Jean Valjean.

>> Brie Carlisle: Theres no one in the street, said

Fauchelevert. Give me your mattock and wait a couple

of minutes for me.

>> Brie Carlisle: Fauchelevert entered. Number 87,

ascended to the very top, guided by the instinct

which always leads the poor man to the garret, and

knocked in the dark. At the door of an attic, a voice

replied, come in. It was

gribiers voice. Bochelevert opened the

door. The gravediggers dwelling was,

like all such wretched habitations, an unfurnished and

encumbered garret, a packing case, a

coffin perhaps, took the place of a commode, a butter

pot served for a drinking fountain, a straw mattress

served for a bed, the floor served instead of

tables and chairs. In a corner, on a

tattered fragment which had been a piece of an old carpet,

a thin woman and a number of children were piled in a

heap. The whole of this poverty stricken

interior bore traces of having been overturned.

One would have said that there had been an earthquake. For

one, the covers were displaced, the

rags scattered about, the jug broken. The

mother had been crying. The children had probably been

beaten, traces of a vigorous and ill

tempered search. It was plain that the

gravedigger had made a desperate search for his

cardinal. Even it made everybody in the garret, from the

jug to his wife, responsible for its loss.

He wore an air of desperation, but

Fauchelevert was in too great a hurry to terminate this adventure, to

take any notice of this sad side of his success.

>> Brie Carlisle: He entered and said, ive brought you back your

shovel and pick.

>> Brie Carlisle: Gripier gazed at him in stupefaction.

>> Brie Carlisle: Is it you, peasant?

>> Brie Carlisle: And tomorrow morning you will find your

card with the porter of the cemetery.

>> Brie Carlisle: Then he laid the shovel and mattock on the floor.

>> Brie Carlisle: What is the meaning of this?

>> Brie Carlisle: Demanded Gribbier.

>> Brie Carlisle: The meaning of it is that you dropped your card out of your

pocket, that I found it on the ground after you were

gone, that I have buried the corpse, that I

have filled the grave. That I have done your work,

that the porter will return your card to you, and that you will

not have to pay 15 francs. There you have it,

conscript.

>> Brie Carlisle: Thanks, villager.

>> Brie Carlisle: Exclaimed gribbier, radiant.

>> Brie Carlisle: The next time I will pay for the drinks.

>> Brie Carlisle: Thank you for joining bite at a time books today while

we wrote a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Bree Carlisle, and I

hope you come back tomorrow, for the next bite of

le miserable.

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

newsletter@byteoutoftimebooks.com, and check

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

our website, byteadatimebooks.com, for

the rest of the links for our show. Wed love to

hear from you on social media as well.

>> Brie Carlisle: Take a look at a book and let's

see what we can find

take it chapter by chapter,

one at a time

so many adventures and

mountains we can climb

take it word for word, line by

line, one bite at a time.