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CHAPTER I
THE SEVENTH CIRCLE AND
THE EIGHTH HEAVEN
The days that follow weddings are solitary. People respect
the meditations of the happy pair. And also, their tardy
slumbers, to some degree. The tumult of visits and con-
gratulations only begins later on. On the morning of the
17th of February, it was a little past midday when Basque,
with napkin and feather-duster under his arm, busy in set-
ting his antechamber to rights, heard a light tap at the door.
There had been no ring, which was discreet on such a day.
Basque opened the door, and beheld M. Fauchelevent. He
introduced him into the drawing-room, still encumbered
and topsy-turvy, and which bore the air of a field of battle
after the joys of the preceding evening.
‘Dame, sir,’ remarked Basque, ‘we all woke up late.’
‘Is your master up?’ asked Jean Valjean.
‘How is Monsieur’s arm?’ replied Basque.
‘Better. Is your master up?’
‘Which one? the old one or the new one?’
‘Monsieur Pontmercy.’