While the new-comer had his back turned to warm himself, the worthy landlord took a pencil from his pocket, and then tore off the corner of an old newspaper which lay on a small table near the window. On the white margin he wrote a line or two, folded up the paper, and handed it to a lad who seemed to serve both as turnspit and page. The landlord whispered a word in the boy's ear, and he ran off in the direction of the Mayor's house. The traveller had seen nothing of all this, and he asked again whether supper would be ready soon. The boy came back with the paper in his hand, and the landlord eagerly unfolded it, like a man who is expecting an answer. He read it carefully, then shook his head, and remained thoughtful for a moment. At last he walked up to the traveller, who seemed plunged in anything but a pleasant reverie. "I cannot make room for you, sir," he said. The man half turned on his stool. "What do you mean? Are you afraid I shall bilk you? Do you want me to pay you in advance? I have money, I tell you." "It is not that" "What is it, then?" "You have money." "Yes," said the man. "But I have not a spare bed-room." The man continued quietly: "Put me in the stables." "I cannot." "Why?" "The horses take up all the room." "Well," the man continued, "a corner in the loft and a truss of straw: we will see to that after supper." "I cannot give you any supper." This declaration, made in a measured but firm tone, seemed to the stranger serious. He rose. "Nonsense, I am dying of hunger. I have been on my legs since sunrise, and have walked twelve leagues. I can pay, and demand food." "I have none," said the landlord. The man burst into a laugh, and turned to the chimney and the oven. "Nothing! Why, what is all this?" "All this is ordered." "By whom?" "By the carriers." "How many are there of them?" "Twelve." "There is enough food here for twenty." The man sat down again, and said without raising his voice,-- "I am at an inn, I am hungry, and so shall remain." The landlord then stooped down, and whispered with an accent which made him start, "Be off with you!" The stranger at this moment was thrusting some logs into the fire with the ferule of his stick, but he turned quickly, and as he was opening his mouth to reply, the landlord continued in the same low voice: "Come, enough of this. Do you wish me to tell you your name? It is Jean Valjean. Now, do you wish me to tell you who you are? On seeing you come in I suspected something, so I sent to the police office, and this is the answer I received. Can you read?" While saying this, he handed the stranger the paper which had travelled from the inn to the office and back again. The man took a glance at it, and mine host continued after a moment's silence,-- "I am accustomed to be polite with everybody. Be off."