The chamber was so arranged that the door in opening masked the corner of the wall on the right. Jean Valjean blew out the light and placed himself in this angle. Sister Simplice fell on her knees near the table. The door opened. Javert entered. The whispers of many men and the protestations of the portress were audible in the corridor. The nun did not raise her eyes. She was praying. The candle was on the chimney-piece, and gave but very little light. Javert caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement. It will be remembered that the fundamental point in Javert, his element, the very air he breathed, was veneration for all authority. This was impregnable, and admitted of neither objection nor restriction. In his eyes, of course, the ecclesiastical authority was the chief of all; he was religious, superficial and correct on this point as on all others. In his eyes, a priest was a mind, who never makes a mistake; a nun was a creature who never sins; they were souls walled in from this world, with a single door which never opened except to allow the truth to pass through. On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to retire. But there was also another duty which bound him and impelled him imperiously in the opposite direction. His second movement was to remain and to venture on at least one question. This was Sister Simplice, who had never told a lie in her life. Javert knew it, and held her in special veneration in consequence. “Sister,” said he, “are you alone in this room?” A terrible moment ensued, during which the poor portress felt as though she should faint. The sister raised her eyes and answered:— “Yes.” “Then,” resumed Javert, “you will excuse me if I persist; it is my duty; you have not seen a certain person—a man—this evening? He has escaped; we are in search of him—that Jean Valjean; you have not seen him?” The sister replied:— “No.” She lied. She had lied twice in succession, one after the other, without hesitation, promptly, as a person does when sacrificing herself. “Pardon me,” said Javert, and he retired with a deep bow. O sainted maid! you left this world many years ago; you have rejoined your sisters, the virgins, and your brothers, the angels, in the light; may this lie be counted to your credit in paradise! The sister’s affirmation was for Javert so decisive a thing that he did not even observe the singularity of that candle which had but just been extinguished, and which was still smoking on the table. An hour later, a man, marching amid trees and mists, was rapidly departing from M. sur M. in the direction of Paris. That man was Jean Valjean. It has been established by the testimony of two or three carters who met him, that he was carrying a bundle; that he was dressed in a blouse. Where had he obtained that blouse? No one ever found out. But an aged workman had died in the infirmary of the factory a few days before, leaving behind him nothing but his blouse. Perhaps that was the one.