the town I went to the inn, but was sent away in consequence of my yellow passport, which I had shown at the police office. I went to another inn, and the landlord said to me, 'Be off.' It was the same everywhere, and no one would have any dealings with me. I went to the prison, but the jailer would not take me in. I got into a dog's kennel, but the dog bit me and drove me off, as if it had been a man; it seemed to know who I was. I went into the fields to sleep in the star-light, but there were no stars. I thought it would rain, and as there was no God to prevent it from raining, I came back to the town to sleep in a door-way. I was lying down on a stone in the square, when a good woman pointed to your house and said, 'Go and knock there.' What sort of a house is this? Do you keep an inn? I have money, one hundred francs, fifteen sous, which I earned at the bagne by my nineteen years' toil. I will pay, for what do I care for that, as I have money. I am very tired and frightfully hungry; will you let me stay here?"

"Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "you will lay another knife and fork."

The man advanced three paces, and approached the lamp which was on the table. "Wait a minute," he continued, as if he had not comprehended, "that will not do. Did you not hear me say that I was a galley-slave, a convict, and have just come from the bagne?" He took from his pocket a large yellow paper, which he unfolded. "Here is my passport, yellow, as you see, which turns me out wherever I go. Will you read it? I can read it, for I learned to do so at the bagne, where there is a school for those who like to attend it. This is what is written in my passport: 'Jean Valjean, a liberated convict, native of' - but that does not concern you - 'has remained nineteen years at the galleys. Five years for robbery with house-breaking, fourteen years for having tried to escape four times. The man is very dangerous.' All the world has turned me out, and are you willing to receive me? is this an inn? will you give me some food and a bed? have you a stable?"

"Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "you will put clean sheets on the bed in the alcove."

The bishop turned to the man. "Sit down and warm yourself, sir. We shall sup directly, and your bed will be got ready while we are supping."

The man understood this at once. The expression of his face, which had hitherto been gloomy and harsh, was marked with stupefaction, joy, doubt, and became extraordinary. He began stammering like a lunatic.

'Get

"Is it true? what? You will let me stay, you will not drive me out, a convict? You call me 'Sir,' you do not 'thou' me. out, dog'; that is always said to me; I really believed you would turn me out, and hence told you at once who I am! Oh, what a worthy woman she was who sent me here! I shall have supper, a bed with mattresses and sheets, like everybody else! For nineteen years I have not slept in a bed! You really mean that I am to stay. You are worthy people; besides, I have money and will pay handsomely. By the way, what is your name, Mr. Landlord ? I will pay anything you please, for you are a worthy man. You keep an inn, do you not?"

"I am," said the bishop, "a priest living in this house."

"A priest!" the man continued. While speaking, he deposited his knapsack and stick in a corner, returned his passport to his pocket, and sat down. "You are humane, sir, and do not feel contempt. A good priest is very good. Then you do not want me to pay?"

"No," said the bishop, "keep your money. How long did you take in earning these one hundred francs?"

"Nineteen years."

"Nineteen years!" the bishop gave a deep sigh.

The man went on, - "I have all my money still; in four days I have only spent twentyfive sous, which I earned by helping to unload carts at Grasse."

While he was speaking the bishop had gone to close the door, which had been left open. Madame Magloire came in bringing a silver spoon and fork, which she placed on the table.

"Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "lay them as near as you can to the fire"; and, turning to his guest, he said, "The night breeze is sharp on the Alps, and you must be cold, sir."

Each time he said the word Sir with his gentle grave voice the man's face was illumined. Sir to a convict is the glass of water to the shipwrecked sailor of the Meduse. Ignominy thirsts for respect.

"This lamp gives a very bad light," the bishop continued. Madame Magloire understood, and fetched from the chimney of monseigneur's bedroom the two silver candlesticks, which she placed on the table ready lighted.

"Monsieur le Curé," said the man, "you are good and do not despise me. You receive me as a friend, and light your wax candles for me, and yet I have not hidden from you whence I come, and that I am an unfortunate fellow." The bishop, who was seated by his side, gently touched his hand. "You need not have told me who you were; this is not my house, but the house of Christ. This door does not ask a man who enters whether he has a name, but if he has sorrow; you are suffering, you are hungry and thirsty, and so be welcome. And do not thank me, or say that I am receiving you in my house, for no one is at home here excepting the man who has need of an asylum. I tell you, who are a passer-by, that you are more at home here than I am myself, and all there is here is yours. Why do I want to know your name? besides, before you told it to me you had one which I knew."

"Is that true? you know my name?" "Yes," the bishop answered, "you are my

brother."

Victor Hugo.