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CHAPTER III
A PEN IS HEAVY TO THE
MAN WHO LIFTED THE
FAUCHELEVENT’S CART
One evening Jean Valjean found difficulty in raising him-
self on his elbow; he felt of his wrist and could not find his
pulse; his breath was short and halted at times; he recog-
nized the fact that he was weaker than he had ever been
before. Then, no doubt under the pressure of some supreme
preoccupation, he made an effort, drew himself up into a
sitting posture and dressed himself. He put on his old work-
ingman’s clothes. As he no longer went out, he had returned
to them and preferred them. He was obliged to pause many
times while dressing himself; merely putting his arms
through his waistcoat made the perspiration trickle from
his forehead.
Since he had been alone, he had placed his bed in the an-
techamber, in order to inhabit that deserted apartment as
little as possible.
He opened the valise and drew from it Cosette’s outfit.