Chance, that is to say, Providence, had cast him into precisely that convent in the Quartier Saint-Antoine where old Fauchelevent, crippled by the fall from his cart, had been admitted on his recommendation two years previously.
He repeated, as though talking to himself:— “The Petit-Picpus convent.”
“Exactly,” returned old Fauchelevent. “But to come to the point, how the deuce did you manage to get in here, you, Father Madeleine?
No matter if you are a saint; you are a man as well, and no man enters here.”
“You certainly are here.”
“There is no one but me.”
“Still,” said Jean Valjean, “I must stay here.”
“Ah, good God!” cried Fauchelevent.
Jean Valjean drew near to the old man, and said to him in a grave voice:—
“Father Fauchelevent, I saved your life.”
“I was the first to recall it,” returned Fauchelevent.
“Well, you can do to-day for me that which I did for you in the olden days.”
Fauchelevent took in his aged, trembling, and wrinkled hands Jean Valjean’s two robust hands, and stood for several minutes as though incapable of speaking.
At length he exclaimed:—
“Oh! that would be a blessing from the good God, if I could make you some little return for that!
Save your life!
Monsieur le Maire, dispose of the old man!”
A wonderful joy had transfigured this old man. His countenance seemed to emit a ray of light.
“What do you wish me to do?” he resumed.
“That I will explain to you.
You have a chamber?”
“I have an isolated hovel yonder, behind the ruins of the old convent, in a corner which no one ever looks into.
There are three rooms in it.”
The hut was, in fact, so well hidden behind the ruins, and so cleverly arranged to prevent it being seen, that Jean Valjean had not perceived it.
“Good,” said Jean Valjean.
“Now I am going to ask two things of you.”
“What are they, Mr. Mayor?”
“In the first place, you are not to tell any one what you know about me.
In the second, you are not to try to find out anything more.”
“As you please.
I know that you can do nothing that is not honest, that you have always been a man after the good God’s heart.
And then, moreover, you it was who placed me here.
That concerns you.
I am at your service.”
“That is settled then.
Now, come with me.
We will go and get the child.”
“Ah!” said Fauchelevent, “so there is a child?”
He added not a word further, and followed Jean Valjean 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 bottle 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! Father 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!”
CHAPTER X—WHICH EXPLAINS HOW JAVERT GOT ON THE SCENT
The events of which we have just beheld the reverse side, so to speak, had come about in the simplest possible manner.
When Jean Valjean, on the evening of the very day when Javert had arrested him beside Fantine’s death-bed, had escaped from the town jail of M. sur M., the police had supposed that he had betaken himself to Paris.