Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools: Edited With Notes, Study Helps, And Reading Lists
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Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools: Edited With Notes, Study Helps, And Reading Lists
American literature
[_He stands still, staring before him, his hand still gripping the
candlestick. Suddenly he straightens up; speaks bitterly._]
Why not? 'Tis easy to give a bed and food! Why doesn't he keep men from
the galleys? Nineteen years for a loaf of bread!
[_Pauses a moment, then resolutely puts both candlesticks into his bag;
steps to the cupboard and takes out the silver plates and the ladle, and
slips them into the bag._]
All solid--I should gain at least one thousand francs. 'Tis due me--due
me for all these years!
[_Closes the bag. Pause._]
No, not the candles--I owe him that much--
[_He puts the candlesticks on mantel; takes up cudgel, knapsack, and
shoes; jumps out window and disappears. Pause._]
[_Enter_ MADAME. _She shivers; discovers the open window._]
MADAME. Why is that window open? I closed it last night myself.
Oh! Could it be possible?
[_Crosses and looks at open cupboard._]
It is gone!
[_Enter the_ BISHOP _from his room._]
BISHOP. Good morning, Madame!
MADAME. Your Reverence! The silver is gone! Where is that man?
BISHOP. In the alcove sleeping, I suppose.
[_Madame runs to curtains of alcove and looks in. Enter_
MADEMOISELLE. _Madame turns._]
He is gone!
MLLE. Gone?
MADAME. Aye, gone--gone! He has stolen our silver, the
beautiful plates and the ladle! I'll inform the police at once!
[_Starts off. The Bishop stops her._]
BISHOP. Wait!--Let me ask you this--was that silver ours?
MADAME. Why--why not?
BISHOP. Because it has always belonged to the poor. I have
withheld it wrongfully.
MLLE. Its loss makes no difference to Madame or me.
MADAME. Oh, no! But what is your Reverence to eat from now?
BISHOP. Are there no pewter plates?
MADAME. Pewter has an odor.
BISHOP. Iron ones, then.
MADAME. Iron has a taste.
BISHOP. Well, then, wooden plates.
[_A knock is heard at street door._]
Come in.
[_Enter an_ OFFICER _and two_ SOLDIERS, _dragging in_
JEAN VALJEAN.]
OFFICER. Your Reverence, we found your silver on this man.
BISHOP. Why not? I gave it to him. I am glad to see you again,
Jean. Why did you not take the candlesticks, too?
JEAN (_trembling_). Your Reverence--
BISHOP. I told you everything in this house was yours, my
brother.
OFFICER. Ah, then what he said was true. But, of course, we did
not believe him. We saw him creeping from your garden--
BISHOP. It is all right, I assure you. This man is a friend of
mine.
OFFICER. Then we can let him go?
BISHOP. Certainly.
[_Soldiers step back._]
JEAN (_trembling_). I am free?
OFFICER. Yes! You can go. Do you not understand?
[_Steps back._]
BISHOP (_to Jean_). My friend, before you go away--here are
your candlesticks (_going to the mantel and bringing the candlesticks_);
take them.
[_Jean takes the candlesticks, seeming not to know what he is doing._]
By the way, my friend, when you come again you need not come through the
garden. The front door is closed only with a latch, day or night. (_To
the Officer and Soldiers._) Gentlemen, you may withdraw.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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