Chapter 27 eleven things he did

Jean Valjean listened attentively.Never a sound. He pushed the door. He pushed with his fingertips, gently and slowly, just like a timid cat trying to get in. After the door was pushed, it moved quietly and almost imperceptibly, and the gap was slightly wider. He waited for a while, and then pushed again, this time with a stronger force. The door slowly opened wide.Now that seam is enough for his body to pass through.But there was a small table by the door, and at that angle it blocked the way and prevented him from passing through the crack. Jean Valjean knew the difficulty.In any case, he had to push the door wider.

He made up his mind and pushed again, harder than the first two times.This time, there was a door mortar, and because the lubricating oil had dried up, it suddenly made a hoarse and continuous sound in the dark. Jean Valjean was astonished.In his ears the sound of the mortar was as loud and frightening as the trumpets of the Last Judgment. At the very instant he began to act, he almost fancied, from the enlargement of his phantasy, that the mortar had come to life, and had taken on an extraordinary vigor, like a barking dog that would warn the whole family and awaken those who were asleep. people.

He stopped, trembling, bewildered, he had walked on tiptoe, and now his heels were on the ground.He heard his arteries hammering like two hammers in his temples, and the breath coming from his chest was like the wind from a cave.He thought it impossible that the deafening sound of the angry door-mortar had not awakened the whole family like an earth-shattering.The door he pushed was alert and shouting; the old man was about to get up, the two old girls were about to shout, and others would come to the rescue; will also be dispatched.For a moment he thought he was done. He stood there panicked, like a stone man, not daring to move.

A few minutes passed.The door was wide open.He ventured a look around the room.There was no movement at all, he stretched out his ears to listen, and there was no sound in the whole house.The sound of the rusty mortar didn't wake anyone up. The first danger was over, but he was still terrified.But he didn't back down.Even when he thought everything was hopeless, he didn't back down.All he could think of was that he had to hurry.He took a step forward and stepped into the room. The room was completely silent.Here and there he saw vague and disjointed shapes which, if he had recognized them by daylight, were scattered papers on a table, an open list, books piled on a stool, an easy chair piled with clothes, a A prayer chair, but at this moment, all these things were reduced to dark hollows and indistinguishable areas.Jean Valjean continued to move forward, taking care not to bump into the furniture.He heard the Bishop sleeping soundly at the far end of the room, breathing evenly and quietly.

He stopped suddenly.He was at the bedside.He himself had not expected to be at the Bishop's bedside so soon. Sometimes, at the right moment, the heaven will make the scenes of all things and the actions of people ingeniously cooperate, thus producing profound effects, as if intending to ask us to think more.About half an hour before, a large cloud had covered the sky.Just as Jean Valjean stopped by the bed, the cloud suddenly parted, as if on purpose, and a ray of moonlight passed through the long window, and fell right on the bishop's old face.The bishop was soundly asleep.He slept in bed almost naked, for the nights in the lower Alps were cold, and a brown woolen sweater covered his arms up to the wrists.His head was resting on the pillow, which was a posture of wanton rest, with one hand hanging outside the bed, wearing the bishop's ring on his finger, so many merits and virtues were consummated by this hand.There was a hint of contentment, optimism and serenity in his face.It wasn't just a smile, it was almost a radiance.There is an aura reflected in his brow, which we cannot see.Even the righteous in their sleep contemplate the mysterious sky.

A ray of colored light from the sky is shining on the bishop. At the same time, he himself is also bright and clear, because that piece of sky is in his heart.That sky is his belief. Just as the moonlight was overlapping (or so to speak) on his heart light, the sleeping bishop seemed to be surrounded by a circle of spiritual light.That light was soft, contained in an indescribable half-darkness.The moonlight in the sky, the silence on the ground, this silent garden, this quiet house, at this moment, everything is still, all these make the sound sleep of the kind old man have an indescribable feeling. A miraculous majesty, and a halo of scrutiny and serenity about those white hairs and those closed eyes, that countenance full of hope and earnestness, old face and child's sleep.

The incomparable dignity of this person is almost comparable to that of a god. Jean Valjean, he, remained in the shadows, holding his iron candlestick in his hand, and stood motionless, looking with fear at this radiant old man.He had never seen anyone like that.He was horrified by his devotion to others.There is no greater spectacle in the realm of the spirit than that of a man on the verge of crime adoring a slumbering sage. He was alone, but sleeping soundly next to such a stranger. Jean Valjean felt more or less the greatness of his heart, but he was not moved. No one could tell how he felt, not even himself.If we really want to understand, we must conceive of an extremely violent force juxtaposed with an extremely gentle force.Even from his complexion, we certainly couldn't tell anything.It was just a fierce and horrified face.He looked at it, that's all.But what was his state of mind?That is impossible to guess.But he was moved, troubled, that was evident.But what is the nature of that emotion?

His eyes did not leave the old man.There was only a curious hesitation in his posture and countenance.We can say that he is facing two kinds of hurdles and hesitates to move forward, one is the hurdle of self-destruction, and the other is the hurdle of self-saving.He seemed ready to crush that head or kiss that hand. After a while, he slowly raised his left hand up to his forehead, took off his cap, and then slowly lowered his hand again.Jean Valjean fell into meditation again, with his cap in his left hand and the iron in his right, his hair standing on end in disorder on his brutish head.

The bishop slept soundly, though with what fearful eyes he looked at the bishop. The moonlight shone dimly on the crucifix on the mantelpiece, and it seemed as if he extended both hands to them both, blessing the one and pardoning the other. Suddenly, Jean Valjean took up his cap, put it on his head, and, without looking at the bishop, walked quickly along the side of the bed to the closet which he could faintly see from the head of the bed, and raised the iron candlestick. , as if about to pick the lock, but the key was already there. He opened the cabinet, and the first thing he saw was the basket of silverware. Holding the basket of silverware, he strode across the room and Regardless of the sound, he went to the door, entered the prayer room, opened the window, picked up the stick, stepped over the window sill, put the silverware into the cloth bag, dropped the basket, walked across the garden, jumped over the wall and escaped like a tiger.