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

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>> Brie Carlisle: Take a look, in the book and let's see

what we can find.

Take it chapter by chapter. One

fight M at a time

so many adventures and

mountains we can climb

to give word for word, line by

line, one bite at a time.

>> Brie Carlisle: Welcome.

>> Brie Carlisle: To bite 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

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while we try to keep the text as close to the original as

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>> Brie Carlisle: Today well be continuing.

Les Miserable by Victor

Hugo chapter

six the beginning of an enigma

Jean Valjean found himself in a sort of

garden which was very vast and of singular

aspect, one of those melancholy gardens

which seem made to be looked at in winter and at

night. This garden was oblong, in

shape, with an alley of large poplars at the further

end, tolerably tall forest trees in the

corners, and an unshaded space in the

center where could be seen a very

large solitary tree, then several

fruit trees, gnarled and bristling like

bushes, beds of vegetables, a

melon patch whose glass frames sparkled in the

moonlight, and an old well.

Here and there stood stone benches which seemed black with

moss. The alleys were bordered with

gloomy and.

>> Brie Carlisle: Very erect little shrubs.

>> Brie Carlisle: The grass had half taken possession of them, and a green

mold covered the rest. Jean

Valjean had beside him the building whose roof had served

him as a means of descent, a pile of

faggots. And behind the faggots directly against

the wall, a stone statue, whose mutilated face was

no longer anything more than a shapeless mask, which

loomed vaguely through the gloom. The building

was a sort of ruinous, where dismantled chambers

were distinguishable, one of which, much

encumbered, seemed to serve as a shed.

The large building of the ruderoit mur, which had a wing on

the rupee picpus, turned two facades at right

angles towards this garden.

These interior facades were even more tragic than the

exterior. All the windows were

grated. Not a gleam of light was visible at any

one of them. The upper story had scuttles

like prisons. One of those

facades cast its shadow on the other, which fell over the

garden like an immense black pall.

No other house was visible. The bottom of the

garden was lost in mist and darkness.

Nevertheless, walls could be confusedly made out, which

intersected as though there were more cultivated land

beyond. And the low roofs of the rue

Palanceau, nothing more wild

and solitary than this garden could be imagined.

There was no one in it, which was quite natural in view of

the hour. But it did not seem as though the

spot were made for anyone to walk in, even in

broad daylight. Jean Valjean's first

care had been to get hold of his shoes and put them on

again, then to step under the shed with

Cosette. A man who is

fleeing never thinks himself sufficiently hidden.

The child whose thoughts were still on the thenardier

shared his instinct for withdrawing from sight as much as possible.

Cosette trembled and pressed close to him.

They heard the tumultuous noise of the patrol searching

the blind alley and the streets, the blows

of their gun stocks against the stones,

javerts appeals to the police spies whom he had

posted, and his imprecations mingled with

words which could not be distinguished.

At the expiration of a quarter of an hour, it seemed as

though that species of stormy roar were becoming more

distant. Jean Valjean held his

breath. He had laid his hand lightly on

cosettes mouth. However, the solitude

in which he stood was so strangely calm

at this frightful uproar, close and

furious as it was, did not disturb him

by so much as the shadow of a misgiving.

It seemed as though those walls had been built of the death

stones on which the scriptures speak.

All at once, in the midst of this profound

calm, a fresh sound arose.

A sound, a celestial, divine,

ineffable, ravishing as the other had been

horrible. It was a hymn

which issued from the gloom a

dazzling burst of prayer and harmony in the

obscure and alarming silence of the night.

Womens voices, but voices

composed at one and the same time. Of the pure

accents of virgins and the innocent, accents of

children. Voices which are not of

the earth. And which resemble those that the newborn infant still

hears. And which the dying man hears. Already

this song proceeded from the gloomy edifice which towered

above the garden. At the moment when the

hubbub of demons retreated. One would have said

that a choir of angels was approaching. Through the gloom,

cosette and Jean Valjean fell on their knees.

They knew not what it was. They knew

not where they were, but both of

them, the man and the child,

the penitent and the innocent felt that they must

kneel. These voices

had this strange characteristic that they

did not prevent the building from seeming to be deserted.

It was a supernatural chant in an uninhabited

house. While these voices were

singing, Jean Valjean thought of nothing.

He no longer beheld the night. He beheld

a blue sky. It seemed to him that

he felt those wings which we all have within us,

unfolding. The song died

away. It may have lasted a long

time. Jean Valjean could not have told.

Hours of ecstasy are never more than a moment.

All fell silent again. There was no

longer anything in the street. There was nothing in the

garden. That which had menaced,

that which had reassured him all had

vanished. The breeze swayed a few dry

weeds on the crest of the wall. And they gave out a faint,

sweet, melancholy sound.

Thank you for joining Bite edit Time books today, while we wrote 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 le

Miserable.

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

newsletter@byteadatimebooks.com, comma. And check

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

our website, byteaditimebooks.com, for

the rest of the links for our show. wed love to hear from you on

social media as well.

>> Brie Carlisle: Many adventures and

mountains we can climb.

Take your word forward, line by

line, one bite at a time.