906 Les Miserables
‘And so have I,’ said Fauchelevent with a boldness which
caused him inward terror, ‘I have something to say to the
very reverend Mother.’
The prioress stared at him.
‘Ah! you have a communication to make to me.’
‘A request.’
‘Very well, speak.’
Goodman Fauchelevent, the ex-notary, belonged to the
category of peasants who have assurance. A certain clever
ignorance constitutes a force; you do not distrust it, and you
are caught by it. Fauchelevent had been a success during the
something more than two years which he had passed in the
convent. Always solitary and busied about his gardening,
he had nothing else to do than to indulge his curiosity. As
he was at a distance from all those veiled women passing to
and fro, he saw before him only an agitation of shadows. By
dint of attention and sharpness he had succeeded in cloth-
ing all those phantoms with flesh, and those corpses were
alive for him. He was like a deaf man whose sight grows
keener, and like a blind man whose hearing becomes more
acute. He had applied himself to riddling out the signifi-
cance of the different peals, and he had succeeded, so that
this taciturn and enigmatical cloister possessed no secrets
for him; the sphinx babbled all her secrets in his ear. Fau-
chelevent knew all and concealed all; that constituted his
art. The whole convent thought him stupid. A great merit
in religion. The vocal mothers made much of Fauchelevent.
He was a curious mute. He inspired confidence. Moreover,
he was regular, and never went out except for well-demon-