The door opens wide, as if someone had given it a resolute push. The wayfarer from the street steps in and leaves it open. Knapsack, cudgel, a rough and violent look. The fire lights him. He is hideous. Madame Magloire cannot even cry. Mademoiselle Baptistine half starts in terror, then turns toward the fireplace, watches her brother, and becomes calm again. The Bishop fixes a tranquil eye on the man. Before he can ask what is wanted, the visitor names himself. Jean Valjean. Convict. Nineteen years. Liberated four days ago, walking to Pontarlier. Inns said Be off because of the yellow passport shown at the town-hall. The jailer would not admit him. A dog bit him. There were no stars. A good woman said Knock there. He has one hundred and nine francs fifteen sous from the galleys. He will pay. Is this an inn?
Madame Magloire, you will set another place. Valjean comes to the lamp and unfolds the yellow paper: five years for house-breaking, fourteen for four escapes. A very dangerous man. Will they give him food and a bed? Madame Magloire, you will put white sheets on the bed in the alcove. She goes. Sit down, sir, and warm yourself. The face that was sombre takes on stupefaction and joy. They will keep him. They call him sir, not thou. Nineteen years since a bed. He offers to pay the inn-keeper anything. I am a priest who lives here. Then you will not demand money? Keep your money. Nineteen years to earn one hundred and nine francs fifteen sous. The Bishop sighs. Valjean remembers a bishop at Marseilles too far off to hear, with cannons facing the lines. While he talks, the Bishop shuts the door that was still open.
Magloire brings a silver fork and spoon. Place those things as near the fire as possible. The night wind is harsh. Each time he says sir, the man's face lights. Monsieur to a convict is a glass of water to the shipwrecked of the Medusa. The lamp is bad; Magloire fetches the two silver candlesticks. The Bishop touches his hand. This is the house of Jesus Christ. The door asks whether he has a grief, not a name. Everything here is yours. Before you told me you had a name I knew. You are called my brother. Valjean recites the red coat, the ball, the chain even in bed, the yellow passport. The Bishop answers with heaven's joy over one repentant face. Magloire serves soup, bacon, mutton, figs, cheese, rye bread, and of her own accord the old Mauves wine. To table. Valjean sits on the right. Something is missing: only three sets. The house usage, when a stranger sups, is all six. Magloire goes out without a word. A moment later the rest of the silver is glittering on the cloth.
Coming Up in Chapter 18
What passed at that table is given in Baptistine's letter. The man eats with the voracity of a starving person, then tells the curé that the carters who would not sit with him keep a better table. Her brother starts talking about cheese-dairies.
