One day, Jean Valjean descended his staircase, took three steps in the street, seated himself on a post, on that same stone post where Gavroche had found him meditating on the night between the 5th and the 6th of June; he remained there a few moments, then went upstairs again.
This was the last oscillation of the pendulum. On the following day he did not leave his apartment. On the day after that, he did not leave his bed.
His portress, who prepared his scanty repasts, a few cabbages or potatoes with bacon, glanced at the brown earthenware plate and exclaimed: 'But you ate nothing yesterday, poor, dear man! ' 'Certainly I did,' replied Jean Valjean. 'The plate is quite full. ' 'Look at the water jug. It is empty.
' 'That proves that you have drunk; it does not prove that you have eaten. ' 'Well,' said Jean Valjean, 'what if I felt hungry only for water? ' 'That is called thirst, and, when one does not eat at the same time, it is called fever. ' 'I will eat to-morrow.
' 'Or at Trinity day. Why not to-day? Is it the thing to say: ‘I will eat to-morrow’? The idea of leaving my platter without even touching it! My lady-finger potatoes were so good!
' Jean Valjean took the old woman’s hand: 'I promise you that I will eat them,' he said, in his benevolent voice. 'I am not pleased with you,' replied the portress. Jean Valjean saw no other human creature than this good woman.
There are streets in Paris through which no one ever passes, and houses to which no one ever comes. He was in one of those streets and one of those houses. While he still went out, he had purchased of a coppersmith, for a few sous, a little copper crucifix