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as a dog follows his master.
Less than half an hour afterwards Cosette, who had
grown rosy again before the flame of a good fire, was lying
asleep in the old gardener’s bed. Jean Valjean had put on his
cravat and coat once more; his hat, which he had flung over
the wall, had been found and picked up. While Jean Valjean
was putting on his coat, Fauchelevent had removed the bell
and kneecap, which now hung on a nail beside a vintage
basket that adorned the wall. The two men were warming
themselves with their elbows resting on a table upon which
Fauchelevent had placed a bit of cheese, black bread, a bot-
tle of wine, and two glasses, and the old man was saying to
Jean Valjean, as he laid his hand on the latter’s knee: ‘Ah! Fa-
ther Madeleine! You did not recognize me immediately; you
save people’s lives, and then you forget them! That is bad!
But they remember you! You are an ingrate!’