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whence hung a moderately large bell. His face, which was in
the shadow, was not distinguishable.
However, the goodman had removed his cap, and
exclaimed, trembling all over:—
‘Ah, good God! How come you here, Father Madeleine?
Where did you enter? Dieu-Jesus! Did you fall from heaven?
There is no trouble about that: if ever you do fall, it will be
from there. And what a state you are in! You have no cravat;
you have no hat; you have no coat! Do you know, you would
have frightened any one who did not know you? No coat!
Lord God! Are the saints going mad nowadays? But how did
you get in here?’
His words tumbled over each other. The goodman talked
with a rustic volubility, in which there was nothing alarm-
ing. All this was uttered with a mixture of stupefaction and
naive kindliness.
‘Who are you? and what house is this?’ demanded Jean
Va lj e a n.
‘Ah! pardieu, this is too much!’ exclaimed the old man.
‘I am the person for whom you got the place here, and this
house is the one where you had me placed. What! You don’t
recognize me?’
‘No,’ said Jean Valjean; ‘and how happens it that you
know me?’
‘You saved my life,’ said the man.
He turned. A ray of moonlight outlined his profile, and
Jean Valjean recognized old Fauchelevent.
‘Ah!’ said Jean Valjean, ‘so it is you? Yes, I recollect you.’
‘That is very lucky,’ said the old man, in a reproachful