At the bishop’s house，his housekeeper，Mme.Magloire，was saying：
“We say that this house is not safe at all；and，if Monseigneur will permit me，I will go on and tell the locksmith to come and put the old bolts in the door again.I say，than a door which opens by a latch on the outside to the first comer，nothing could be more horrible；and then Monseigneur has the habit of always saying：‘Come in，’even at midnight.But，my goodness，there is no need to even ask leave”
At this moment there was a violent knock on the door.
“Come in！”said the bishop.The door opened.
It opened quickly，quite wide，as if pushed by some one boldly and with energy.
A man entered.
That man we know already；it was the traveller we have seen wandering about in search of a lodging.
He came in，took one step，and paused，leaving the door open behind him.He had his knapsack on his back，his stick in his hand，and a rough，hard，and fierce look in his eyes.He was hideous.
The bishop looked upon the man with a tranquil eye.As he was opening his mouth to speak，doubtless to ask the stranger what he wanted，the man，leaning with both hands on his club，glanced from one to another in turn，and，without waiting for the bishop to speak，said，in a loud voice：
“See here！my name is Jean Valjean.I am a convict；I have been nineteen years in the galleys.Four days ago I was set free，and started for Pontarlier；during these four days I have walked from Toulon.Today I have walked twelve leagues.When I reached this place this evening I went to an inn，and they sent me away on account of my yellow passport，which I had shown at the Mayor‘s office，as was necessary.I went to another inn；they said，’Get out！‘It was the same with one as with another；nobody would have me.I went to the prison and the turnkey would not let me in.I crept into a dog kennel，the dog bit me，and drove me away as if he had been a man；you would have said that he knew who I was.I went into the fields to sleep beneath the stars，there were no stars.I thought it would rain，and there was no good God to stop the drops，so I came back to the town to get the shelter of some doorway.There in the square I lay down upon a stone；a good woman showed me your house，and said：’Knock there！‘I have knocked.What is this place？Are you an inn？I have money；my savings，one hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous，which I have earned in the galleys by my work for nineteen years.I will pay.What do I care？I have money，I am very tiredtwelve leagues on footand I am so hungry.Can I stay？”
“Mme.Magloire，”said the bishop，“put on anotherplate.”
The man took three steps and came near the lamp which stood on the table.“Stop，”he exclaimed；as if he had not been understood；“not that，did you understand me？I am a galley slavea convictI am just from the galleys.”He drew from his pocket a large sheet ofyellow paper，which he unfolded.“There is my passport，yellow，as you see.That is enough to have me kicked out wherever I go.Will you read it？See，here is what they have put on my passport：Jean Valjean，a liberated convict；has been nineteen years in the galleys；five years for burglary；fourteen years for having attempted four times to escape.This man is very dangerous.There you have it！Everybody has thrust me out；will you receive me？Is this an inn？Can you give me something to eat and a place to sleep？Have you a stable？”
“Mme.Magloire，”said the bishop，“put some sheets on the bed in the alcove.”
The bishop turned to the man：
