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The imperturbable stranger brushed his hat with his el-
bow and went on:
‘An assassin and a thief. Remark, Monsieur le Baron,
that I do not here speak of ancient deeds, deeds of the past
which have lapsed, which can be effaced by limitation be-
fore the law and by repentance before God. I speak of recent
deeds, of actual facts as still unknown to justice at this hour.
I continue. This man has insinuated himself into your con-
fidence, and almost into your family under a false name. I
am about to tell you his real name. And to tell it to you for
nothing.’
‘I am listening.’
‘His name is Jean Valjean.’
‘I know it.’
‘I am going to tell you, equally for nothing, who he is.’
‘Say on.’
‘He is an ex-convict.’
‘I know it.’
‘You know it since I have had the honor of telling you.’
‘No. I knew it before.’
Marius’ cold tone, that double reply of ‘I know it,’ his
laconicism, which was not favorable to dialogue, stirred
up some smouldering wrath in the stranger. He launched
a furious glance on the sly at Marius, which was instantly
extinguished. Rapid as it was, this glance was of the kind
which a man recognizes when he has once beheld it; it did
not escape Marius. Certain flashes can only proceed from
certain souls; the eye, that vent-hole of the thought, glows
with it; spectacles hide nothing; try putting a pane of glass