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thout　knowing　why；　and　with　the　mechanical　persistence　of　revery；　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　onethe　half　or　quarter　hour。
　　It　seemed　to　him　that　that　stroke　said　to　him；　〃e　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　e　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　miner's　candlestick。
　　Convicts　were；　at　that　period；　sometimes　employed　in　quarrying　stone　from　the　lofty　hills　which　environ　Toulon；　and　it　was　not　rare　for　them　to　have　miners'　tools　at　their　mand。
　　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。


BOOK　SECONDTHE　FALL
CHAPTER　XI　
　　WHAT　HE　DOES
　　　Jean　Valjean　listened。
　　Not　a　sound。
　　He　gave　the　door　a　push。
　　He　pushed　it　gently　with　the　tip　of　his　finger；　lightly；　with　the　furtive　and　uneasy　gentleness　of　a　cat　which　is　desirous　of　entering。
　　The　door　yielded　to　this　pressure；　and　made　an　imperceptible　and　silent　movement；　which　enlarged　the　opening　a　little。
　　He　waited　a　moment；　then　gave　the　door　a　second　and　a　bolder　push。
　　It　continued　to　yield　in　silence。
　　The　opening　was　now　large　enough　to　allow　him　to　pass。
　　But　near　the　door　there　stood　a　little　table；　which　formed　an　embarrassing　angle　with　it；　and　barred　the　entrance。
　　Jean　Valjean　recognized　the　difficulty。
　　It　was　necessary；　at　any　cost；　to　enlarge　the　aperture　still　further。
　　He　decided　on　his　course　of　action；　and　gave　the　door　a　third　push；　more　energetic　than　the　two　preceding。
　　This　time　a　badly　oiled　hinge　suddenly　emitted　amid　the　silence　a　hoarse　and　prolonged　cry。
　　Jean　Valjean　shuddered。
　　The　noise　of　the　hinge　rang　in　his　ears　with　something　of　the　piercing　and　formidable　sound　of　the　trump　of　the　Day　of　Judgment。
　　In　the　fantastic　exaggerations　of　the　first　moment　he　almost　imagined　that　that　hinge　had　just　bee　animated；　and　had　suddenly　assumed　a　terrible　life；　and　that　it　was　barking　like　a　dog　to　arouse　every　one；　and　warn　and　to　wake　those　who　were　asleep。
　　He　halted；　shuddering；　bewildered；　and　fell　back　from　the　tips　of　his　toes　upon　his　heels。　He　heard　the　arteries　in　his　temples　beating　like　two　forge　hammers；　and　it　seemed　to　him　that　his　breath　issued　from　his　breast　with　the　roar　of　the　wind　issuing　from　a　cavern。
　　It　seemed　impossible　to　him　that　the　horrible　clamor　of　that　irritated　hinge　should　not　have　disturbed　the　entire　household；　like　the　shock　of　an　earthquake；　the　door；　pushed　by　him；　had　taken　the　alarm；　and　had　shouted；　the　old　man　would　rise　at　once；　the　two　old　women　would　shriek　out；　people　would　e　to　their　assistance；　in　less　than　a　quarter　of　an　hour　the　town　would　be　in　an　uproar；　and　the　gendarmerie　on　hand。　For　a　moment　he　thought　himself　lost。
　　He　remained　where　he　was；　petrified　like　the　statue　of　salt；　not　daring　to　make　a　movement。
　　Several　minutes　elapsed。
　　The　door　had　fallen　wide　open。
　　He　ventured　to　peep　into　the　next　room。　Nothing　had　stirred　there。
　　He　lent　an　ear。
　　Nothing　was　moving　in　the　house。
　　The　noise　made　by　the　rusty　hinge　had　not　awakened　any　one。
　　This　first　danger　was　past；　but　there　still　reigned　a　frightful　tumult　within　him。
　　Nevertheless；　he　did　not　retreat。
　　Even　when　he　had　thought　himself　lost；　he　had　not　drawn　back。
　　His　only　thought　now　was　to　finish　as　soon　as　possible。
　　He　took　a　step　and　entered　the　room。
　　This　room　was　in　a　state　of　perfect　calm。
　　Here　and　there　vague　and　confused　forms　were　distinguishable；　which　in　the　daylight　were　papers　scattered　on　a　table；　open　folios；　volumes　piled　upon　a　stool；　an　arm…chair　heaped　with　clothing；　a　prie…Dieu；　and　which　at　that　hour　were　only　shadowy　corners　and　whitish　spots。
　　Jean　Valjean　advanced　with　precaution；　taking　care　not　to　knock　against　the　furniture。　He　could　hear；　at　the　extremity　of　the　room；　the　even　and　tranquil　breathing　of　the　sleeping　Bishop。
　　He　suddenly　came　to　a　halt。
　　He　was　near　the　bed。
　　He　had　arrived　there　sooner　than　he　had　thought　for。
　　Nature　sometimes　mingles　her　effects　and　her　spectacles　with　our　actions　with　sombre　and　intelligent　appropriateness；　as　though　she　desired　to　make　us　reflect。
　　For　the　last　half…hour　a　large　cloud　had　covered　the　heavens。
　　At　the　moment　when　Jean　Valjean　paused　in　front　of　the　bed；　this　cloud　parted；　as　though　on　purpose；　and　a　ray　of　light；　traversing　the　long　window；　suddenly　illuminated　the　Bishop's　pale　face。
　　He　was　sleeping　peacefully。
　　He　lay　in　his　bed　almost　pletely　dressed；　on　account　of　the　cold　of　the　Basses…Alps；　in　a　garment　of　brown　wool；　which　covered　his　arms　to　the　wrists。
　　His　head　was　thrown　back　on　the　pillow；　in　the　careless　attitude　of　repose；　his　hand；　adorned　with　the　pastoral　ring；　and　whence　had　fallen　so　many　good　deeds　and　so　many　holy　actions；　was　hanging　over　the　edge　of　the　bed。
　　His　whole　face　was　illumined　with　a　vague　expression　of　satisfaction；　of　hope；　and　of　felicity。　It　was　more　than　a　smile；　and　almost　a　radiance。
　　He　bore　upon　his　brow　the　indescribable　reflection　of　a　light　which　was　invisible。　The　soul　of　the　just　contemplates　in　sleep　a　mysterious　heaven。
　　A　reflection　of　that　heaven　rested　on　the　Bishop。
　　It　was；　at　the　same　time；　a　luminous　transparency；　for　that　heaven　was　within　him。
　　That　heaven　was　his　conscience。
　　At　the　moment　when　the　ray　of　moonlight　superposed　itself；　so　to　speak；　upon　that　inward　radiance；　the　sleeping　Bishop　seemed　as　in　a　glory。　It　remained；　however；　gentle　and　veiled　in　an　ineffable　half…light。　That　moon　in　the　sky；　that　slumbering　nature；　that　garden　without　a　quiver；　that　house　which　was　so　calm；　the　hour；　the　moment；　the　silence；　added　some　solemn　and　unspeakable　quality　to　the　venerable　repose　of　this　man；　and　enveloped　in　a　sort　of　serene　and　majestic　aureole　that　white　hair；　those　closed　eyes；　that　face　in　which　all　was　hope　and　all　was　confidence；　that　head　of　an　old　man；　and　that　slumber　of　an　infant。
　　There　was　something　almost　divine　in　this　man；　who　was　thus　august；　without　being　himself　aware　of　it。
　　Jean　Valjean　was　in　the　shadow；　and　stood　motionless；　with　his　iron　candlestick　in　his　hand；　frightened　by　this　luminous　old　man。　Never　had　he　beheld　anything　like　this。
　　This　confidence　terrified　him。　The　moral　world　has　no　grander　spectacle　than　this：
　　a　troubled　and　uneasy　conscience；　which　has　arrived　on　the　brink　of　an　evil　action；　contemplating　the　slumber　of　the　just。
　　That　slumber　in　that　isolation；　and　with　a　neighbor　like　himself；　had　about　it　something　sublime；　of　which　he　was　vaguely　but　imperiously　conscious。
　　No　one　could　have　told　what　was　passing　within　him；　not　even　himself。　In　order　to　attempt　to　form　an　idea　of　it；　it　is　necessary　to　think　of　the　most　violent　of　things　in　the　presence　of　the　most　gentle。　Even　on　his　visage　it　would　have　been　impossible　to　distinguish　anything　with　certainty。
　　It　was　a　sort　of　haggard　astonishment。　He　gazed　at　it；　and　that　was　all。
　　But　what　was　his　thought？　It　would　have　been　impossible　to　divine　it。
　　What　was　evident　was；　that　he　was　touched　and　astounded。
　　But　what　was　the　nature　of　this　emotion？
　　His　eye　never　quitted　the　old　man。
　　The　only　thing　which　was　clearly　to　be　inferred　from　his　attitude　and　his　physiognomy　was　a　strange　indecision。　One　would　have　said　that　he　was　hesitating　between　the　two　abysses；　the　one　in　which　one　loses　one's　self　and　that　in　which　one　saves　one's　self。
　　He　seemed　prepared　to　crush　that　skull　or　to　kiss　that　hand。
　　At　the　expiration　of　a　few　minutes　his　left　arm　rose　slowly　towards　his　brow；　and　he　took　off　his　cap；　then　his　arm　fell　back　with　the　same　deliberation；　and　Jean　Valjean　fell　to　meditating　once　more；　his　cap　in　his　left　hand；　his　club　in　his　right　hand；　his　hair　bristling　all　over　his　savage　head。
　　The　Bishop　continued　to　sleep　in　profound　peace　beneath　that　terrifying　gaze。
　　The　gleam　of　the　moon　rendered　confusedly　visible　the　crucifix　over　the　chimney…piece；　which　seemed　to　be　extending　its　arms　to　both　of　them；　with　a　benediction　for　one　and　pardon　for　the　other。
　　Suddenly　Jean　Valjean　replaced　his　cap　on　his　brow；　then　stepped　rapidly　past　the　bed；　without　glancing　at　the　Bishop；　straight　to　the　cupboard；　which　he　saw　near　the　head；　he　raised　his　iron　candlestick　as　though　to　force　the　lock；　the　key　was　there；　he　opened　it；　the　first　thing　which　presented　itself　to　him　was　the　basket　of　silverware；　he　seized　it；　traversed　the　chamber　with　long　strides；　without　taking　any　precautions　and　without　troubling　himse