He walks straight up to the man whom he sees in the garden. He has taken in his hand the roll of silver which was in the pocket of his waistcoat. The man's head is bent down, and he does not see him approaching. In a few strides Jean Valjean stands beside him. Jean Valjean accosts him with the cry, One hundred francs. The man gives a start and raises his eyes. You can earn a hundred francs, if you will grant me shelter for this night. The moon shines full upon Jean Valjean's terrified countenance. What, so it is you, Father Madeleine, said the man. That name, thus pronounced, at that obscure hour, in that unknown spot, by that strange man, makes Jean Valjean start back. He had expected anything but that. The person who thus addresses him is a bent and lame old man, dressed almost like a peasant, who wears on his left knee a leather knee-cap, whence hangs a moderately large bell. His face, which is in the shadow, is not distinguishable. However, the goodman has removed his cap, and exclaims, trembling all over. How come you here, Father Madeleine? Where did you enter? Did you fall from heaven? You have no cravat, you have no hat, you have no coat. You would have frightened anyone who did not know you. Are the saints going mad nowadays? His words tumble over each other. The goodman talks with a rustic volubility, in which there is nothing alarming. All this is uttered with a mixture of stupefaction and naive kindliness.
Who are you, and what house is this, demanded Jean Valjean. I am the person for whom you got the place here, and this house is the one where you had me placed. What, you don't recognize me? No, said Jean Valjean, and how happens it that you know me? You saved my life, said the man. He turns. A ray of moonlight outlines his profile, and Jean Valjean recognizes old Fauchelevent. Ah, so it is you? Yes, I recollect you. That is very lucky, said the old man, in a reproachful tone. And what are you doing here? Why, I am covering my melons, of course. In fact, at the moment when Jean Valjean accosted him, old Fauchelevent held in his hand the end of a straw mat which he was occupied in spreading over the melon bed. During the hour or thereabouts that he has been in the garden he has already spread out a number of them. It was this operation which caused him to execute the peculiar movements observed from the shed. The moon is bright, it is going to freeze, he says. What if I were to put my melons into their greatcoats? And, looking at Jean Valjean with a broad smile, you ought to have done the same. Jean Valjean, finding himself known to this man, at least only under the name of Madeleine, thenceforth advances only with caution. He multiplies his questions. Strange to say, their roles seem to be reversed. It is he, the intruder, who interrogates. And what is this bell which you wear on your knee? This is so that I may be avoided. There are only women in this house, many young girls. It appears that I should be a dangerous person to meet. The bell gives them warning. When I come, they go. What house is this? Come, you know well enough. But I do not. Answer me as though I knew nothing. Well, then, this is the Petit-Picpus convent. Memories recur to Jean Valjean. Chance, that is to say, Providence, has cast him into precisely that convent in the Quartier Saint-Antoine where old Fauchelevent, crippled by the fall from his cart, had been admitted on his recommendation two years previously.
Still, said Jean Valjean, I must stay here. Father Fauchelevent, I saved your life. I was the first to recall it, returned Fauchelevent. Well, you can do today for me that which I did for you in the olden days. Fauchelevent takes in his aged, trembling, and wrinkled hands Jean Valjean's two robust hands, and stands for several minutes as though incapable of speaking. At length he exclaims that it would be a blessing from the good God if he could make some little return. Save your life. Dispose of the old man. A wonderful joy has transfigured this old man. His countenance seems to emit a ray of light. He has an isolated hovel yonder, behind the ruins of the old convent, in a corner which no one ever looks into. There are three rooms in it. The hut is so well hidden that Jean Valjean had not perceived it. Now I am going to ask two things of you, said Jean Valjean. In the first place, you are not to tell anyone what you know about me. In the second, you are not to try to find out anything more. As you please. I know that you can do nothing that is not honest. You it was who placed me here. I am at your service. That is settled then. Now, come with me. We will go and get the child. Ah, said Fauchelevent, so there is a child? He adds not a word further, and follows Jean Valjean as a dog follows his master. Less than half an hour afterwards Cosette, who has grown rosy again before the flame of a good fire, is lying asleep in the old gardener's bed. Jean Valjean has put on his cravat and coat once more. His hat, which he had flung over the wall, has been found and picked up. While Jean Valjean is putting on his coat, Fauchelevent has removed the bell and kneecap, which now hang on a nail beside a vintage basket. The two men are warming themselves with their elbows resting on a table upon which Fauchelevent has placed a bit of cheese, black bread, a bottle of wine, and two glasses, and the old man is saying, as he lays his hand on the latter's knee, Father Madeleine, you did not recognize me immediately. You save people's lives, and then you forget them. That is bad. But they remember you. You are an ingrate.
