As the church clock struck two, Jean Valjean awoke in the bishop’s house. Many thoughts passed through his mind, but one kept returning: there was a small fortune in silver in the next room! The six plates and the ladle were worth twice what he had earned for 19 years of prison labor.
Valjean sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about the silver for an hour. He might have remained there longer if the clock hadn’t struck again. The clock seemed to say, "Let’s go!" So Valjean stood up and went to the door that led to the bishop’s bedroom. The bishop had left it ajar.
Valjean pushed the door lightly with his fingertip, and it opened a little wider. He waited a moment and then pushed the door again, more boldly this time. The door opened wide with a loud creak. Valjean froze with his heart pounding.
But no one in the house woke up. Valjean peered into the room and saw the bishop sleeping peacefully, a beam of moonlight illuminating his pale face. Valjean slipped silently into the room. He opened the cupboard at the head of the bed and removed the basket containing the ladle and plates. Once outside he threw away the basket, ran across the garden, and leaped over the low, white wall.
The next morning the bishop was walking in the garden when his housekeeper dashed out of the house.
"The silver basket has disappeared!" cried Madame Magloire.
"I just found it here in the garden." The bishop calmly handed the basket to her.
"But there’s nothing in it! That man who came last night must have stolen the silver."
Madame Magloire ran back into the bishop’s house while he bent sadly over a flower lying on the ground. The basket had broken its stem.
Madame Magloire came running into the garden again. "He’s gone!" she said to the bishop.
The bishop was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I held on to that silver for a long time when I should have given it to the poor. Our visitor was evidently a poor man, so it’s appropriate that the silver now belongs to him."
"But what are you going to eat from? We don’t have any—"
Their discussion was interrupted by the bishop’s sister calling to them from a window.
"Someone’s knocking at the front door!" cried Mademoiselle Baptistine.
Madame Magloire hurried into the house with the bishop following slowly behind her.
"Come in!" said the bishop when he reached the front room.
The door opened and there stood three policemen. One held Jean Valjean by his collar.
"I’m so happy to see you again," the bishop said kindly to Valjean. "I meant for you to have my candlesticks too. Why didn’t you take them along with your ladle and plates? They’re also made of silver and will bring a good price."
Valjean’s eyes widened, and he looked at the bishop with a stunned expression.
"He seemed to be running away from something," said one of the policemen. "So we stopped him and found your silver."
"And then I’m sure he told you that he’d spent the night here and that I’d given it to him. I hope you can see that you’ve made a terrible mistake."
"If that’s the truth, then we’ll let him go," said the same policeman.
"Let him go," said the bishop. Then he went to the mantel, picked up the two candlesticks, and handed them to Valjean. "Here are your candlesticks, my friend."
Madame Magloire and Mademoiselle Baptistine were too amazed to speak.
Valjean took the candlesticks with a wild look in his eye.
"By the way, my friend," continued the bishop, "the next time you visit, you don’t have to come through the garden. You can always come in by the front door; it’s never locked."
The policemen left, and the bishop turned his attention to Valjean again. In a quiet voice he said, "Never forget that you’ve promised me to use this silver to become an honest man. Now go in peace."
Valjean knew that he hadn’t promised the bishop anything, but he was too astonished to say a word. He fled from the bishop’s house and the town as fast as he could. Valjean felt angry, but he wasn’t sure with whom. He didn’t know whether he should feel touched—or humiliated—by the bishop’s actions. Perhaps he would be less agitated if the police had taken him to prison. At least he knew how to deal with prison!
As the sun was setting, Valjean sat by the side of the road only a few miles from the bishop’s house. He had been wandering and thinking all day without paying attention to where he was going.
In a few minutes, a young chimney sweep came walking down the road. The boy was busy singing and tossing a handful of coins in the air. He had managed to catch them all on the back of his hand. Until now. A silver forty-sou coin got away from him and rolled toward the man sitting by the road. Valjean promptly put his foot on top of it.
The boy walked over to him and said, "Monsieur, give me my coin."
"What’s your name?"
"Little Gervais."
"Go away, Little Gervais," said Valjean, looking at the ground.
The boy repeated his request, and Valjean continued to look at the ground. Little Gervais tried to move the big, heavy-soled shoe that covered his treasure. The child began to cry, and Valjean looked up.
"Are you still here?" Valjean said in a menacing voice. He stood up suddenly without moving his foot. "You’d better get going if you know what’s good for you."
The boy looked at him in terror before running away as fast as possible. A few minutes later, Valjean heard him sobbing, and then there was silence. Valjean continued to sit by the side of the road until it was dark. When he stood up again, he saw the coin.
"What’s this?" he said to himself, and then he remembered the chimney sweep. "I’ve done a bad thing. I must find that boy and return this to him."
Valjean called the boy’s name over and over again, but there was no response. He started to walk and soon met a priest on horseback.
"Father, have you passed a boy on the road?" asked Valjean. "He’s about 12 years old."
"I’ve seen no one," said the priest.
"Here," said Valjean, handing the priest a few coins. "Take these and give them to the poor in your parish." Then he added, "I’m a robber, and you should have me arrested."
The priest fled in fear.
For hours Valjean kept searching for Little Gervais. Suddenly his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. It was as if the weight of his guilty conscience had overwhelmed him.
"What a wretch I am!" he exclaimed, and he burst into tears for the first time in 19 years.
Valjean realized that he had to change. When the church clock chimed three on that morning, he was kneeling in prayer at the bishop’s door.