Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the ninety-eighth 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!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Check out our website, or join our Facebook Group!

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our YouTube!

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

>> 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 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

want to know whats coming next and vote on upcoming

books, sign up for our

newsletter@biteattimebooks.com dot.

Youll also find our new t shirts in the shop,

including podcast shirts and quote shirts from your

favorite classic novels. Be sure to follow my

show on your favorite podcast platform so you get all the new

episodes. You can find most of our links in the

show notes, but also our website,

byteadatimebooks.com includes all of the links for

our show, including to our Patreon to

support the show and YouTube, where we have special

behind the narration of the episodes. We are part

of the bite at a Time books productions network. If

youd also like to hear what inspired your favorite classic

authors to write their novels and what was going

on in the world at the time, check out the bite at a

Time books behind the story podcast. Wherever

you listen to podcasts, please note,

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.

>> Brie Carlisle: Values today well be

continuing.

Les miserables by Victor

Hugo, chapter

six, which possibly proves

buller trails intelligence

on the afternoon of that same Christmas Day,

1823, a man had walked for

rather a long time in the most deserted part of the Boulevard

de l'Hospital in Paris.

This man had the air of a person who was seeking

lodgings, and he seemed to

halt by preference at the most modest

houses on that dilapidated border of the Faubourg

Saint Marcia. We shall

see further on that. This man had, in

fact, hired a chamber in that isolated quarter.

This man, in his attire, as in all

his person, realized, the type of what may be

called the well bred mendicant, extreme

wretchedness combined with extreme cleanliness.

This is a very rare mixture which inspires

intelligent hearts with that double respect which one feels

for the man who is very poor and for the

man who is very worthy. He wore a

very old and very well brushed round

hat, a coarse coat

worn perfectly threadbare of an ochre

yellow, a color that was not in the least

eccentric at that epoch. A large

waistcoat with pockets of a venerable cut.

Black breeches worn grey at the

knee. Stockings of black worsted

and thick shoes with copper buckles.

He would have been pronounced a preceptor in some good

family returned from the emigration.

He would have been taken from more than 60 years of age, from

his perfectly white hair, his wrinkled brow,

his livid lips and his countenance, where

everything breathed depression and weariness of

life. Judging from his firm

tread, from the singular vigor which

stamped all his movements, he would have hardly

been thought. 50 the, wrinkles on his brow were

well placed and would have disposed in his favor

anyone who observed him attentively. His

lip contracted with a strange fold which seemed severe

and which was humble. There was, in the depth

of his glance, an indescribable melancholy

serenity. In his left hand he carried

a little bundle tied up in a handkerchief.

In his right he leaned on a sort of cudgel cut

from some hedge. This stick had been

carefully trimmed and had an air that was not too

threatening. The most had been made of its

knots, and it had received a coral like

head made from red wax. It

was a cudgel, and it seemed to be a cane.

There were but few passersby on that boulevard,

particularly in the winter. The man

seemed to avoid them rather than to seek them.

But this without any affection.

At that epoch, King Louis XVIII went nearly

every day to Choiseula Roi. It was one of his

favorite excursions. Towards

00 almost invariably, the royal

carriage and cavalcade was seen to pass at full speed

along the Boulevard de la Hoppidal.

This served in lieu of a watch or, clock to the poor women

of the quarter, who said, it is 02:00 there

he is returning to the Tuileries. And some

rushed forward and others drew up in

line. For a passing king always

creates a tumult. Besides, the

appearance and disappearance of Louis XVIII

produced a certain effect in the streets of Paris.

It was rapid but majestic.

This impotent king had a taste for a fast

gallop. As he was not able to walk, he wished

to run. That, cripple would gladly have made

himself drawn by the lightning. He

passed Pacific and severe

in the midst of naked swords.

His massive couch, all covered with

gilding with great branches of lilies painted on the

panels, thundered noisily along.

There was hardly time to cast a glance upon it.

In the rear angle on the right, there was visible on tufted

cushions of white satin. A large, firm, and ruddy

face. A brow freshly powdered,

a l'ezell royale. A

proud, hard, crafty eye.

The, smile of an educated man. Two great

epaulets with bullion fringe floating over a burgoyne

coat. A golden fleece. The

cross of Saint Louis, the cross of the Legion

of Honor. The silver plaque of the Saint

Esprit. A huge belly and a wide blue

ribbon. It was the king.

Outside of Paris. He held his hat, decked with white ostrich

plumes on his knees and wrapped in high english

gaiters. When he re entered the

city, he put on his hat and

saluted rarely. He stared coldly at

the people, and they returned it in kinderg.

When he appeared for the first time in the Saint Marceau

quarter. The whole success which he produced is

contained in this remark of an inhabitant of the Faubourg, of his

comrade. That big fellow yonder

is the government. This infallible passage

of the king at the same hour was therefore the daily event at the

Boulevard de la hospital. The promenader

in the yellow coat evidently did not belong in the

quarter and probably did not belong in

Paris, for he was ignorant as to this

detail. When, at 02:00 the royal

carriage, surrounded by a squadron of the bodyguard,

all covered with silver lace, debouched on the

boulevard. After having made the turn of the

salepitire, he appeared

surprised and almost alarmed. There

was no one but himself in this cross lane.

He drove hastily behind the corner of the wall of an enclosure,

though this did not prevent Monsieur de Luchavre from

spying about. Monsieur le

duc de Havre, as captain of the guard on duty that day, was

seated in a carriage opposite the king. He said to

his majesty, yonder is an evil looking

man. Members of the police

who were clearing the king's route took equal note of

him. One of them received an order to follow

him, but the man plunged into the

deserted little streets of the faubourg, and

as twilight was beginning to fall,

the agent lost trace of him, as is stated in a report

addressed the same evening to Monsieur le Count

Danglas, minister of state, prefect

of police. When the man in the

yellow coat had thrown the agent off his track,

he redoubled his pace, not

without turning round many a time to assure himself that he was

not being followed. At a

15, that is to say, when night was fully

come, he passed in front of the theater of the

Porte St. Martin, where the two convicts was being played that

day, this poster,

illuminated by the theater lantern, struck him,

for although he was walking rapidly he

halted to read it. An instant later he

was in the blind alley of the La Panchette, and he entered

the Platte d'Artaine, the pewter platter

where the office of the coach for Langny was then

situated. This coach set

out at 04:30 the horses were

harnessed, and the travelers, summoned by the coachman, were

hastily climbing the lofty iron ladder of the vehicle.

The man inquired, have, you a place?

Only one beside me on the box, said the

coachman. I will take it.

Climb up nevertheless. Before

setting out, the coachman cast a glance at the

travelers shabby dress, at the diminutive size of

his bundle, and made him pay his fare. Are

you going as far as Langne? Demanded the coachman.

Yes, said the man. The

traveler paid to Langny. They

started when they had passed the barrier. The

coachman tried to enter into conversation, but the

traveler only replied in monosyllables.

The coachman took to whistling and swearing at his

horses. The coachman wrapped himself up in his

cloak. It was cold.

The man did not appear to be thinking of that.

Thus they passed Gourni and nearly

surmame. Towards 06:00 in the

evening they reached Chells. The

coachman drew up in front of the Carters Inn, installed in the ancient buildings

of the royal abbey, to give his horses a breathing spell.

I get down here, said the man.

He took his bundle and his cudgel and jumped down from the

vehicle. An instant later he had

disappeared. He did not enter the

inn. When the coach set out for Langny a few

minutes later, it did not encounter him in the principal street of

Chelles. The coachman turned to the

inside. Travelers there said,

he is, a man who does not belong here, for I do

not know him. He had not the air of owning a sou,

but he does not consider money.

He pays Delangy, and he goes only as far as Chells.

It is night, all the houses are shut. He

does not enter the inn, and he is not to be found. So he

has dived through the earth. The man

had not plunged into the earth, but he had

gone with great strides through the dark down the principal street

of Chelles. Then he had turned to the right

before reaching the church into the crossroad leading to Mont

Fermier. like a person who was acquainted with the country and had

been there before, he followed this road

rapidly at the spot where it intersected

by the ancient tree bordered road which runs from Gaigny to

Langny. He heard people coming.

He concealed himself precipitately in a ditch, and

there waited until the passersby were at a distance.

The precaution was nearly superfluous, however,

for as weve already said, it was a very dark December

night. No more than two or three stars were visible in the

skydehe it is at this point

that the ascent of the hill begins. The man

did not return to the road to Montremille. He struck

across the fields to the right and entered the forest with long

strides. Once in the forest,

he slackened his pace and began a careful

examination of all the trees, advancing

step by step, as though

seeking and following a mysterious road known to himself

alone. There came a moment

when he appeared to lose himself, and he

paused in indecision. At

last he arrived by dint of feeling his way inch by inch

at a clearing where there was a great heap of whitish stones.

He stepped up briskly to these stones and examined them

attentively through the mist of the night, as though he

were passing them in review. A

large tree covered with those

excrescences, which are the warts of vegetation,

stood a few paces distant from the pile of stones.

He went up to this tree and passed his hand over the bark of the

trunk, as though seeking to recognize and count all

the warts. Opposite this

tree, which was an ash, there was a

chestnut tree, suffering from a peeling of the

bark to which a band of zinc had been nailed by way of

dressing. He raised himself on

tiptoe and touched this band of zinc.

Then he trod about for a while on the ground,

comprised in the space between the tree and the heap of

stones like a person whos trying to assure himself

that the soil has not recently been disturbed.

That done, he took his bearings

and resumed his march through the forest.

It was the man who had just met Cosette

as he walked through the thicket in the direction of

Montfermeier, he had espied that tiny shadow,

moving with a groan, depositing a burden on the ground,

then taking it up and setting out again.

He drew near and perceived that it was a very young child

laden with an enormous bucket of water.

Then he approached the child and

silently grasped the handle of the bucket.

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@byteaditimebooks.com, and check

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

our website, biteaditimebooks.com for

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

social media as well.

>> Speaker D: M

take a look and let's

see what we can find.

>> Brie Carlisle: Take it chapter by chapter one.