Early in the month of October, 1815, about an hour before sunset, a man who was traveling on foot, entered the little town of Digne, France. It would be difficult to encounter a wayfarer of more wretched appearance. He was a man of medium stature, thick-set and robust. He might have been forty-six or forty-eight years old. A cap with a drooping leather visor partly concealed his face, which, burned and tanned by the sun and wind, was dripping with perspiration. He wore a cravat which was twisted into a long string; trousers of blue drilling worn and threadbare, and an old gray tattered blouse, patched on one of the elbows with a bit of green cotton cloth, sewed on with a twine string. On his back, a soldier's knapsack, well buckled and perfectly new; in his hand, an enormous knotty stick. Iron-shod shoes enveloped his stockingless feet. No one knew him. He was evidently a chance passer-by, but nevertheless he directed his footsteps toward the village inn (the best in the country-side), and entered the kitchen. The host, on hearing the door open, addressed him without lifting his eyes from the stove. "What is it this morning?" "Food and lodging." "Nothing easier--by paying for it." "I have money, I can pay." "In that case we are at your service." "When will dinner be ready?" "Immediately." While the newcomer was depositing his knapsack upon the floor, the host tore off the corner of an old newspaper, wrote a line or two on the margin and handed it to a lad standing near. After whispering a few words in his ear, the lad set off at a run toward the town hall. In a few moments he returned, bringing the paper. The host read it attentively, remained silent a moment and then took a step in the direction of the traveler. "I cannot receive you, sir!" "What! Are you afraid I won't pay you? I have money--I can pay." "You have money, but I have no room." "Well, put me in the stable." "The horses occupy all the space there." "In the loft then--But come, we can settle that after dinner." "I cannot give you your dinner." "Bah! I'm hungry. I have been on foot since sunrise and I wish to eat." "Well, I have nothing." "Nothing--and all that?" "All that is engaged by messieurs and wagoners,--twelve of them." "There's enough food there for twenty." "I tell you, it is all engaged and paid for in advance." "Well, I'm at a public inn and hungry. I shall remain." "Stop! Do you want me to tell you who you are--you are Jean Valjean--Go!" The man dropped his head, picked up his knapsack and took his departure.... That evening the Bishop of the little town of Digne was sitting with his sister and housekeeper, talking over his day's work among his parishioners, when there came a violent knock at the door. "Come in--"