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Jean Valjean at the epoch when he passed through D—— in
October, 1815, could easily have recognized all the pieces of
this miserable outfit.
He had preserved them as he had preserved the silver
candlesticks, in order to remind himself continually of his
starting-point, but he had concealed all that came from the
galleys, and he had allowed the candlesticks which came
from the Bishop to be seen.
He cast a furtive glance towards the door, as though he
feared that it would open in spite of the bolt which fastened
it; then, with a quick and abrupt movement, he took the
whole in his arms at once, without bestowing so much as
a glance on the things which he had so religiously and so
perilously preserved for so many years, and flung them all,
rags, cudgel, knapsack, into the fire.
He closed the false cupboard again, and with redoubled
precautions, henceforth unnecessary, since it was now emp-
ty, he concealed the door behind a heavy piece of furniture,
which he pushed in front of it.
After the lapse of a few seconds, the room and the oppo-
site wall were lighted up with a fierce, red, tremulous glow.
Everything was on fire; the thorn cudgel snapped and threw
out sparks to the middle of the chamber.
As the knapsack was consumed, together with the hid-
eous rags which it contained, it revealed something which
sparkled in the ashes. By bending over, one could have read-
ily recognized a coin,—no doubt the forty-sou piece stolen
from the little Savoyard.
He did not look at the fire, but paced back and forth with