MLLE. All of them?

MADAME.  For one guest?

BISHOP.  Yes—­we have no right to hide treasures.  Each guest shall enjoy all that we have.

MADAME.  Then ’tis time we should look to the locks on the
doors, if we would keep our silver.  I’ll go for the locksmith now—­

BISHOP.  Stay!  This house shall not be locked against any man! 
Would you have me lock out my brothers?

[A loud knock is heard at street door.]

Come in!

[Enter JEAN VALJEAN, with his knapsack and cudgel.  The women are frightened.]

JEAN (roughly).  See here!  My name is Jean Valjean.  I am a convict from the galleys.  I was set free four days ago, and I am looking for work.  I hoped to find a lodging here, but no one will have me.  It was the same way yesterday and the day before.  To-night a good woman told me to knock at your door.  I have knocked.  Is this an inn?

BISHOP.  Madame, put on another plate.

JEAN.  Stop!  You do not understand, I think.  Here is my passport—­see what it says:  “Jean Valjean, discharged convict, has been nineteen years in the galleys; five years for theft; fourteen years for having attempted to escape.  He is a very dangerous man.”  There! you know it all.  I ask only for straw in your stable.

BISHOP.  Madame, you will put white sheets on the bed in the alcove.

[Exit Madame.  The Bishop turns to Jean.]

We shall dine presently.  Sit here by the fire, sir.

JEAN.  What!  You will keep me?  You call me “sir”!  Oh!  I am going to dine!  I am to have a bed with sheets like the rest of the world—­a bed!  It is nineteen years since I have slept in a bed!  I will pay anything you ask.  You are a fine man.  You are an innkeeper, are you not?

BISHOP.  I am a priest who lives here.

JEAN.  A priest!  Ah, yes—­I ask your pardon—­I didn’t notice your cap and gown.

BISHOP.  Be seated near the fire, sir.

[Jean deposits his knapsack, repeating to himself with delight.]

JEAN.  He calls me sir—­sir. (Aloud.) You will require me to pay, will you not?

BISHOP.  No, keep your money.  How much have you?

JEAN.  One hundred and nine francs.

BISHOP.  How long did it take you to earn it?

JEAN.  Nineteen years.

BISHOP (sadly).  Nineteen years—­the best part of your life!

JEAN.  Aye, the best part—­I am now forty-six.  A beast of burden would have earned more.

BISHOP.  This lamp gives a very bad light, sister.

[Mlle. gets the two silver candlesticks from the mantel, lights them, and places them on the table.]

JEAN.  Ah, but you are good!  You don’t despise me.  You light your candles for me,—­you treat me as a guest,—­and I’ve told you where I come from, who I am!