Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the seventieth chapter of Les Miserables.

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>> Speaker A: 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.

>> Brie Carlisle: So.

>> Speaker A: 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

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>> Brie Carlisle: Today well be continuing Les Miserable

by Victor Hugo

chapter five a suitable tomb

Jean Ferre deposited Jean Valjean in the city

prison. The arrest of Monser Madeleine

occasioned a sensation, or rather

an extraordinary commotion in M sur m.

We are sorry that we cannot conceal the fact that

at the single word he was a convict.

Nearly everyone deserted him

in less than 2 hours. All the good that he had done

had been forgotten, and he was nothing but a

convict from the galleys. It is

just to add, that the details of what had taken place at Aerys

were not yet known. All day long,

conversations like the following were to be heard in all quarters

of the town. You dont know. He was a

liberated convict. Who? The

mayor? Bah. Monsieur Madeleine.

Yes, really. His name was not

Madeleine at all. He had a frightful name.

Bajon Bojin. Boujin.

Ah. Good God. He has been arrested.

Arrested in prison. In the city

prison. While waiting to be transferred. Until he

is transferred. He is to be transferred.

Where is he to be taken hell be tried at the assizes

for a highway robbery which he committed long ago.

Well, I suspected as much. That man was

too good, too perfect, too affected.

He refused the cross he bestowed sous on

all the little scamps he came across. I always thought there was

some evil history back of all that the

drawing rooms particularly abounded. In remarks of this

nature, one old lady, a,

subscriber to the Joppo blanc, made the following

remark, the depth of which it is impossible to

fathom. I am not sorry.

It will be a lesson to the Bonapartists.

It was thus that the phantom which had been called

Monsieur Madeleine vanished from M sur M.

Only three or four persons in all the town remained faithful to

his memory. The old portress who had served

him was among the number. On the evening

of that day, the worthy old woman was sitting in her

lodge, still in a thorough fright and

absorbed in sad reflections. The factory

had been closed all day. The carriage gate was

bolted. The street was deserted.

There was no one in the house but the two nuns,

Sister Perpetu and sister simplice, who

were watching beside the body of Fantine.

Towards the hour when Monsieur Madeleine was accustomed

to return home, the good portress rose

mechanically, took, from a drawer the key of Monsieur

Madeleines chamber. And the flat candlestick which

he used every evening to go up to his quarters.

Then she hung the key on the nail when she was accustomed to

take it. And set the candlestick on one

side as though she was expecting him.

Then she sat down again on her chair. And became absorbed

in thought once more. The poor,

good old woman had done all this without being conscious of

it. It was only at the expiration

of 2 hours that she roused herself from her reverie and

exclaimed, hold, my good

God. Jesus. And I hung his key on

the nail. At that moment,

the small window in the lodge opened. A

hand passed through, seized the key in the

candlestick, and lighted the taper at the candle which

was burning there. The portress raised

her eyes and stood there with gaping mouth. And a

shriek which she confined to her throat.

She knew that hand, that

arm, the sleeve of that coat.

It was Monsieur Madeleine. it was several

seconds before she could speak. She had a

seizure, as she said herself when she related the

adventure afterwards. Good m. God. Monsieur

le Maire. She cried at last. I, thought you

were. She stopped.

The conclusion of her sentence would have been lacking in respect

towards the beginning. Jean Valjean was

still Monsieur le Maire to her. He finished

her thought in prison, said

he. I was there. I broke a bar of one

of the windows. I let myself drop from the top of a

roof, and here I am. Im, going up to my

room. Go and find sister simplice for me.

She is with that poor woman. No doubt

the old woman obeyed in all haste. He gave her

no orders. He was quite sure

that she would guard him better than he should guard himself.

No one ever found out how he had managed to get into the

courtyard without opening the big gates.

He had, and always carried about him a

passkey which opened a little side door. But he

must have been searched, and his latch key must

have been taken from him. This point

was never explained. He ascended the

staircase leading to his chamber. On arriving at the

top, he left his candle on the top step of his stairs,

opened his door with very little noise,

went and closed his window and his shutters by

feeling, then returned for his candle

and re entered his room. It was a useful

precaution. It will be recollected that

his window could be seen from the street. He

cast a glance about him at his table,

at his chair, at his bed, which had not been disturbed for

three days. No trace of the disorder of the

night before last remained. The portress had

done up his room. Only she had picked out of

the ashes and placed neatly on the table the two iron ends of

the cudgel and the 40 su piece which had been blackened

by the fire. He took a sheet of paper

on which he wrote, these are the two tips of

my iron shot cudgel, and the 40 sous piece stolen from

little Dravaille, which I mentioned at the court of

Assizes. And he arranged this piece of

paper, the bits of iron and the coin

in such a way that they were the first things to be seen. On entering the

room from a cupboard, he pulled out one of his old

shirts, which he tore in pieces

in the strips of linen. Thus prepared, he wrapped the two silver

candlesticks. He betrayed neither

haste nor agitation. And while he was

wrapping up the bishops candlesticks, he nibbled at a piece of black

bread. It was probably the

prison bread which he had carried with him in his flight.

This was proved by the crumbs which were found on the floor of the room.

When the authorities made an examination later on,

there came two taps at the door. Come

in, said he. It was Sister

simplice. She was pale,

her eyes were red. The candle which she

carried trembled in her hand. The peculiar

feature of the violences of destiny is that however

polished or cool we may be, they ring

human nature from our very bells and force it

to reappear on the surface. The emotions

of that day had turned the nun into a woman once more.

She had wept and she was

trembling. Jean Valjean had just finished

writing a few lines on a paper which he handed to the nun,

saying, Sister, you will give this to monsieur le

cure. The paper was not

folded. She cast a glance upon it.

You can read it, said he.

She read. I beg monsieur

le cure to keep an eye on all that I leave behind

me. He will be so good as to

pay out of it the expenses of my trial and

of the funeral of the woman who died yesterday.

The rest is for the poor.

The sister tried to speak, but she

only managed to stammer a few inarticulate sounds.

She succeeded in saying, however, does

not Monsieur le Maire desire to take a last look at that

poor, unhappy woman? No,

said he, I am pursued. It would only end in

their arresting me in that room and that would disturb

her. He had hardly finished when

a loud noise became audible on the staircase.

I heard a tumult of ascending footsteps, and the old

portress sang in her loudest and most piercing tones.

My good sir, I swear to you by the good

God that not a soul has entered this house all day,

nor all the evening, and that I have not even left the door.

A man responded, but there is a light in that

room. Nevertheless, they recognized

Javerts voice. The chamber was so

arranged that the door and opening masked the corner of the wall on the

right. Jean Valjean blew out the light and

placed himself in this angle. Sister simplice

fell on her knees near the table. A door

opened. Javert entered.

The whispers of many men and the protestations of the

portress were audible in the corridor. The nun

did not raise her eyes. She was

praying. The candle was on the chimney

piece and gave but very little light. Javert

caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement.

It will be remembered that the fundamental

point in Javert, his element, the very

air he breathed, was veneration for all

authority. This was impregnable and admitted

of neither objection nor restriction. In

his eyes, of course, the ecclesiastical authority was the chief

of all. He was religious,

superficial and correct on this point as on all

others. In his eyes, a priest was a

mind who never makes a mistake. A nun was

a creature who never sins. They were souls

walled in from this world with a single door which

never opened except to allow the truth to pass through.

On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to

retire. But there was also

another duty which bound him and impelled him

imperiously in the opposite direction. His

second movement was to remain and venture on at least

one question. This was sister

simplice, who had never told a lie in her

life. Javert knew it and held her in special

veneration. In consequence, sister,

said he, are you alone in this room?

A terrible moment ensued during which the

poor portress felt as though she should faint. The

sister raised her eyes and answered,

yes. Then resumed

Javert. You will excuse me if I

persist. It is my duty. You have not seen a

certain person, a man, this evening.

He has escaped. We are in search of him. That

Jean Valjean. You have not seen him? The

sister replied. No.

She lied. She had lied twice in

succession, one after the other, without hesitation,

promptly as a person does when sacrificing herself.

Pardon me, said Javert, and he

retired with a deep bow. Oh,

sainted maid, you left this world many years ago.

You have rejoined your sisters, the virgins. And your brothers,

the angels in the light. May this lie be

counted to your credit in paradise.

The sisters affirmation was, for Javert, so

decisive a thing. That he did not even observe the singularity of that

candle which had but just been

extinguished. And which was still smoking on the

table. An hour later, a man

marching amid trees and mists. Was rapidly

departing from M sur m in the direction of Paris.

That, man was Jean Valjean. It has

been established by the testimony of two or three

carters who met him. That he was carrying a

bundle, that he was dressed in a blouse.

Where had he obtained that blouse?

No one ever found out. But an aged workman had died in

the infirmary of the factory a few days before, leaving

behind him nothing but his blouse. Perhaps

that was the one. One last

word about we all have a

mother. The earth.

Fantine was given back to that mother.

The cure thought that he was doing right.

And perhaps he really was in reserving

as much money as possible. From what Jean Valjean had left for the

poor, who was concerned, after all,

a convict and a woman of the town. That is

why he had a very simple funeral for Fantine.

And reduced it to that strictly necessary form known as the

Paupers grave. So Fantine was

buried in the free corner of the cemetery. Which belongs to

anybody and everybody. And where the poor are

lost, fortunately, God knows where to

find the soul again. Fantine was laid in the

shade. Among the first bones that came to

hand. She was subjected to the promiscuousness

of ashes. She was thrown into the public

grave. Her grave resembled

her bed the end of

volume one. Fantine,

thank you for joining bite at a time books today. Well, 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

Le Miserable.

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

newsletter@biteoutimebooks.com, comma. And check

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

our website, biteaditimebooks.com, for

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>> Speaker A: 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.