110 Les Miserables
‘I cannot give you any dinner.’
This declaration, made in a measured but firm tone,
struck the stranger as grave. He rose.
‘Ah! bah! But I am dying of hunger. I have been walking
since sunrise. I have travelled twelve leagues. I pay. I wish
to eat.’
‘I have nothing,’ said the landlord.
The man burst out laughing, and turned towards the
fireplace and the stoves: ‘Nothing! and all that?’
‘All that is engaged.’
‘By whom?’
‘By messieurs the wagoners.’
‘How many are there of them?’
‘Twelve.’
‘There is enough food there for twenty.’
‘They have engaged the whole of it and paid for it in ad-
vance.’
The man seated himself again, and said, without raising
his voice, ‘I am at an inn; I am hungry, and I shall remain.’
Then the host bent down to his ear, and said in a tone
which made him start, ‘Go away!’
At that moment the traveller was bending forward and
thrusting some brands into the fire with the iron-shod tip
of his staff; he turned quickly round, and as he opened his
mouth to reply, the host gazed steadily at him and add-
ed, still in a low voice: ‘Stop! there’s enough of that sort of
talk. Do you want me to tell you your name? Your name is
Jean Valjean. Now do you want me to tell you who you are?
When I saw you come in I suspected something; I sent to