Chapter Chapter 108 · THE REMARKS OF THE PRINCIPAL TENANT

Jean Valjean was prudent enough never to go out by day. Every evening,

at twilight, he walked for an hour or two, sometimes alone, often with

Cosette, seeking the most deserted side alleys of the boulevard, and

entering churches at nightfall. He liked to go to Saint-Médard, which

is the nearest church. When he did not take Cosette with him, she

remained with the old woman; but the child’s delight was to go out with

the good man. She preferred an hour with him to all her rapturous

_tête-à-têtes_ with Catherine. He held her hand as they walked, and

said sweet things to her.

It turned out that Cosette was a very gay little person.

The old woman attended to the housekeeping and cooking and went to

market.

They lived soberly, always having a little fire, but like people in

very moderate circumstances. Jean Valjean had made no alterations in

the furniture as it was the first day; he had merely had the glass door

leading to Cosette’s dressing-room replaced by a solid door.

He still wore his yellow coat, his black breeches, and his old hat. In

the street, he was taken for a poor man. It sometimes happened that

kind-hearted women turned back to bestow a sou on him. Jean Valjean

accepted the sou with a deep bow. It also happened occasionally that he

encountered some poor wretch asking alms; then he looked behind him to

make sure that no one was observing him, stealthily approached the

unfortunate man, put a piece of money into his hand, often a silver

coin, and walked rapidly away. This had its disadvantages. He began to

be known in the neighborhood under the name of _the beggar who gives

alms_.

The old _principal lodger_, a cross-looking creature, who was

thoroughly permeated, so far as her neighbors were concerned, with the

inquisitiveness peculiar to envious persons, scrutinized Jean Valjean a

great deal, without his suspecting the fact. She was a little deaf,

which rendered her talkative. There remained to her from her past, two

teeth,—one above, the other below,—which she was continually knocking

against each other. She had questioned Cosette, who had not been able

to tell her anything, since she knew nothing herself except that she

had come from Montfermeil. One morning, this spy saw Jean Valjean, with

an air which struck the old gossip as peculiar, entering one of the

uninhabited compartments of the hovel. She followed him with the step

of an old cat, and was able to observe him without being seen, through

a crack in the door, which was directly opposite him. Jean Valjean had

his back turned towards this door, by way of greater security, no

doubt. The old woman saw him fumble in his pocket and draw thence a

case, scissors, and thread; then he began to rip the lining of one of

the skirts of his coat, and from the opening he took a bit of yellowish

paper, which he unfolded. The old woman recognized, with terror, the

fact that it was a bank-bill for a thousand francs. It was the second

or third only that she had seen in the course of her existence. She

fled in alarm.

A moment later, Jean Valjean accosted her, and asked her to go and get

this thousand-franc bill changed for him, adding that it was his

quarterly income, which he had received the day before. “Where?”

thought the old woman. “He did not go out until six o’clock in the

evening, and the government bank certainly is not open at that hour.”

The old woman went to get the bill changed, and mentioned her surmises.

That thousand-franc note, commented on and multiplied, produced a vast

amount of terrified discussion among the gossips of the Rue des Vignes

Saint-Marcel.

A few days later, it chanced that Jean Valjean was sawing some wood, in

his shirt-sleeves, in the corridor. The old woman was in the chamber,

putting things in order. She was alone. Cosette was occupied in

admiring the wood as it was sawed. The old woman caught sight of the

coat hanging on a nail, and examined it. The lining had been sewed up

again. The good woman felt of it carefully, and thought she observed in

the skirts and revers thicknesses of paper. More thousand-franc

bank-bills, no doubt!

She also noticed that there were all sorts of things in the pockets.

Not only the needles, thread, and scissors which she had seen, but a

big pocket-book, a very large knife, and—a suspicious

circumstance—several wigs of various colors. Each pocket of this coat

had the air of being in a manner provided against unexpected accidents.

Thus the inhabitants of the house reached the last days of winter.