Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the twenty-fourth chapter of Les Miserables.

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

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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.

Welcome 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 my passion with listeners like you. If you

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

possible, some words have been changed

to honor the marginalized communities whove identified the

words as harmful and to, stay in alignment with

Byte at a time books.

Brand values today well be

continuing les miserable by Victor

Hugo chapter

ten the man aroused

as the cathedral clock struck two in the morning,

Jean Valjean awoke. What

woke him was that his bed was too good.

It was nearly 20 years since he had slept in a

bed, and although he had not undressed, the

sensation was too novel not to disturb his slumbers.

He had slept more than 4 hours. His

fatigue had passed away. He was

accustomed not to devote many hours to repose.

He opened his eyes and stared into the gloom which surrounded

him. Then he closed them again with the

intention of going to sleep once more.

When many varied sensations have agitated the

day, when various matters preoccupy the

mind, one falls asleep once,

but not a second time.

Sleep comes more easily than it returns.

This is what happened to Jean Valjean. He could

not get to sleep again, and he fell to thinking.

He was at one of those moments when the thoughts which one has in

ones mind are troubled. There was a sort

of dark confusion in his brain. His

memories of the olden time and of the immediate present. Floated

their pell mell and mingled confusedly. Losing

their proper forms, becoming disproportionately

large. Then suddenly disappearing as in

a muddy and perturbed pool. Many

thoughts occurred to him. But, there was one

which kept constantly presenting itself afresh.

And which drove away all others. We will

mention this thought at once. He had observed the

six sets of silver forks and spoons. And the ladle which

Madame Magloire had placed on the table. Those

six sets of silver haunted him. They were

there, a few paces distant.

Just as he was traversing the adjoining room to reach the one

in which he then was. The old servant woman had been

in the act of placing them in a little cupboard near the head of the

bed. He had taken careful note of this

cupboard on the right as you entered from the dining

room. They were solid. An old

silver. From the ladle, one could get at least

200 francs. Double what he had earned in

19 years. It is true that he

would have earned more. If the administration had not

robbed him. His mind wavered for a whole

hour. In fluctuations with which there was certainly mingled some

struggle. 03:00 struck.

He opened his eyes again. Drew himself up

abruptly into a sitting posture. Stretched out

his arm and felt of his knapsack. Which he

had thrown down on a corner of the alcove. Then he

hung his legs over the edge of the bed. And placed his feet on the

floor. And thus found himself,

almost without knowing it, seated on his

bed. He remained for a time

thoughtfully. In this attitude. Which would have been suggestive

of something sinister. For anyone who had seen him

thus in the dark. The only person awake in the house

were all were sleeping. All of a sudden, he

stooped down, removed his shoes. And

placed them softly on the mat beside the bed.

Then he resumed his thoughtful attitude. And became

motionless once more. Throughout this

hideous meditation. The thought thoughts which we have above

indicated. Moved incessantly through his brain.

Entered, withdrew, re entered. And

in a manner, oppressed him. And then he

thought also, without knowing why. And with the

mechanical persistence of reverie. Of a

convict named Brevet. Whom he had known in the

galleys. And whose trousers had been

upheld by a single suspender of knitted

cotton. The checkered pattern of that suspender

recurred incessantly to his mind. He

remained in this situation. And would have so

remained indefinitely, even until daybreak.

Had not the clock struck one a, uh-huh, half or

quarter hour. It seemed to him that the

stroke said to him, come on, he

rose to his feet, hesitated still another

moment, and listened. All was

quiet in the house. Then he walked straight

ahead with short steps to the window, of which he

caught a glimpse. The night was not very dark.

There was a full moon across which

coursed large clouds driven by the wind.

This created, outdoors, alternate shadow

and gleams of light, eclipses,

then bright openings of the clouds, and

indoors, a sort of twilight. This

twilight, sufficient to enable a person to see his

way intermittent on account of the clouds,

resembled the sort of livid light which falls through an air hole in a

cellar before which the passersby come

and go.

On.

Arriving at the window, Jean Valjean examined it.

It had no grating. It opened in the

garden and was fastened according to the fashion of the

country, only by a small pin.

He opened it, but as a rush of

cold and piercing air penetrated the room. Abruptly

he closed it again. Immediately he

scrutinized the garden with that attentive gaze which studies

rather than looks. The garden was

enclosed by a tolerably low white wall, easy

to climb. Far away at the

extremity, he perceived tops of trees

spaced at regular intervals, which indicated that the wall

separated the garden from an avenue or lane planted with

trees. Having taken this

survey, he executed a movement like that of a man who has made

up his mind, strode to his alcove,

grasped his knapsack, opened it,

fumbled in it, pulled out of it something which he placed

on the bed, put his shoes into one of his

pockets, shut the whole thing up again, threw

the knapsack on his shoulders, put on his

cap, drew the visor down over his

eyes, felt for his cudgel,

went and placed it in the angle of the window,

then returned to the bed and resolutely seized the

object which he had deposited there.

It resembled a short bar of iron, pointed

like a pike at one end. It would have been difficult

to distinguish in that darkness, for what employment that bit of iron

could have been designed. Perhaps it was a

lever. Possibly it was a club.

In the daytime, it would have been possible to recognize it as

nothing more than a miners candlestick.

Convicts were, at that period

sometimes employed in quarrying stone from the lofty

hills which environed Toulon, and it was not

rare for them to have miners tools at their command.

These miners candlesticks are of massive

iron, terminated at the lower extremity by a

point by means of which they are stuck into the

rock. He took the candlestick in his right

hand. Holding his breath and trying to deaden the

sound of his tread, he directed his steps to the door of

the adjoining room occupied by the bishop. As we

already know, on arriving at this

door, he found it ajar. The bishop

had not closed it.

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 Brie Carlisle, and I hope you come back

tomorrow, for the next bite of le

miserable.

dont forget to sign up for our

newsletter@biteautotimebooks.com comma. And

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

or our website, byteadittimebooks.com,

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

to hear from you on social media as well.

Line by line, one bite at a time.