Chapter 146 Seven "Don't lose the card"The origin of this idiom

This is what happened to the coffin containing Jean Valjean. When the hearse had come a long way, and the priest and choir-boys had boarded and left, Fauchelevent, who never took his eyes off the burial worker, saw him stooping to get his shovel stuck in the mud. At this moment Fauchelevent made a firm resolution. He went and stood between the grave and the burial worker, folded his arms, and said: "I pay the bill!" The burial worker, startled, stared at him, and replied: "What, redneck?" Fauchelevent repeated: "I pay the bill!" "What account?"

"Drink bill!" "What wine?" "Argenteuil." "Where is it, Argenteuil?" "'Good Papaya'." "Fuck you!" said the burial worker. At the same time he picked up a shovel of earth and threw it on the coffin. The coffin made an empty sound.Fauchelevent felt himself top-heavy, and almost fell down in the grave.He shouted, his throat was beginning to be choked. "Dude, before 'Good Papaya' closes!" The burial worker shoveled another shovelful of earth.Fauchelevent continued. "I pay the bill!" At the same time he seized the burial worker by the arm.

"Listen to me, man. I'm the burial worker in the convent. I've come to help you. You can do this job in the evening. We'll have a drink first, and then we'll do it later." As he said this, he was obsessed with this stubborn and hopeless idea, but he had this miserable thought in his heart: "Even if he would drink! Will he be drunk?" "My God," said the burial worker, "if you are so persistent, I will accompany you. Let's go and drink together. After the work is done, it will never be done before the work." At the same time he shook his spade.Fauchelevent seized him again.

"It's Argenteuil at six francs a bottle!" "Why," said the burial worker, "you are a bell ringer. Ding Dong, Ding Dong, you can't say anything but that. Go away, and don't keep babbling here." At the same time he threw out a second shovel. By this time Fauchelevent did not know what he was talking about. "Come and have a drink," he roared, "since I pay the bill!" "Let the child sleep and settle down first," said the burial worker. He dropped the third spade. Then he stuck the shovel into the ground again, and said:

"It's going to be cold to-night, you know, and if we leave the dead woman here without a quilt, she'll run after us and start screaming." At this moment the burial worker was bending over to shovel, the pockets of his smock open. Fauchelevent's distraught eyes rested mechanically on the pocket and fixed it. The sun was not yet covered by the horizon, and it was still bright enough for him to see something white in the pocket of the gaping mouth. All the gleam which a Picardian countryman's eyes can possess, radiated from Fauchelevent's pupils.Suddenly he had an idea.

The burial worker was paying attention to his shovel, and Fauchelevent took advantage of it, reached into his pocket from behind, and pulled out the white thing from the bottom of the bag. The burial worker had dropped his fourth shovel into the grave. Just as he was about to turn back for the fifth spade, Fauchelevent looked at him calmly and said to him: "Hey, fledgling boy, do you have that card?" The burial worker paused and said: "What card?" "The sun is going down." "Let it go down, and put on its nightcap." "The iron gates of the cemetery are about to close."

"So what if it's closed?" "Do you have that card?" "Ah, my card!" said the burial worker. At the same time he searched his pockets. Searched for one, then searched for another.He went to the vest pocket, checked the first, turned the second over. "No," he said, "I didn't have my card, I forgot." "A fine of fifteen francs," said Fauchelevent. The burial worker's face turned blue.Green is the colorless face with livid face. "Oh Jesus—my—lame—God—squat—ass! Fifteen francs fine!" "Three pieces of one hundred sous," said Fauchelevent.

The burial worker drops his shovel. Fauchelevent's opportunity had come. "Don't panic," said Fauchelevent, "don't be pessimistic, my boy. It's not worth committing suicide for it, trying to take advantage of it. Fifteen francs, that's fifteen francs, and you can avoid paying it. I am." Veteran, you are novice. I have many methods, methods, tricks, tricks. As a friend I advise you. One thing is obvious, the sun has gone down, and it is on the tip of the cupola. Minutes later, the gates of the cemetery will be closed." "That's the truth," replied the burial worker.

"You don't have time to fill this pit in five minutes. It's as deep as the gate of hell. You must have no time to get to the door and get out of this grave before closing the iron gate." "this is correct." "In that case, a fine of fifteen francs cannot be avoided." "Fifteen francs..." "But you have time... where do you live?" "It's only two steps from the wicket. It will take a quarter of an hour to walk here. Rue Vaugirard, No. 87." "You still have time, run away and run out of the gate immediately."

"Not bad." "Out of the gate, you run home quickly, get your card and come back, the gatekeeper of the cemetery will open the door for you. If you have the card, you will not be fined. You can bury your dead. I, I will stand for you Stay here so he won't miss out." "You saved my life, country boy." "Go away," said Fauchelevent. The burial worker, so grateful that his heart was full of joy, shook his hand again and again, and ran away with a swish. After the burial-man had disappeared into the bushes, Fauchelevent listened again, and when his footsteps ceased to be heard, he bent down towards the grave, and cried softly:

"Grandpa Madeleine!" There was no answering voice. Fauchelevent shivered all over.He climbed down, no, it should be said that he rolled down, jumped on the head of the coffin, and cried: "Are you in there?" There was no movement in the coffin. Fauchelevent was so trembling that he stopped breathing, he hastily took out his blunt chisel and hammer, and pried off the cover.Jean Valjean's face was pale in the twilight, and his eyes were closed. Fauchelevent's hair stood on end, and he stood up, leaning against the inner wall of the grave, and almost collapsed on the coffin.He looked at Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean lay still, pale and motionless. Fauchelevent said softly, as if blowing a breeze: "he died!" He stood up again, crossed his arms so violently that his clenched fists touched his shoulders, and cried: "That's how I rescued him, me!" At this time, the poor old man burst into tears and talked to himself. Some people think that there will be no one who talks alone in the world, which is a mistake.Intense agitation is often expressed aloud through language. "It is Grandfather Mace's fault. Why should he die, fool? Why should he have to be on the road when no one expects it? He killed M. Madeleine. Grandpa Madeleine! He lay there In the coffin. He's dead. It's all over. So, what's the point of such a thing? Ah! My God! He's dead! Well, his little girl, what shall I do with her? What would the woman of the fruit say? Such a man dies like this, such a ghost! When I think of him climbing under my car! Grandpa Madeleine! Grandpa Madeleine! God, he is bored Dead, as I said long ago. He won't listen to me. Well, what a fool! He's dead, the good man, the most merciful of the merciful of God's merciful! And His little girl! Ah! Anyway, I'm not going back there, I. I'll just stay here. That's what happened! Both of us, at this age, like two Crazy old man, not worth it. But how on earth did he get into that convent? It was wrong to begin with. That kind of thing can't be done. Grandpa Madeleine! Grandpa Madeleine! Grandpa Madeleine! Madeleine! Monsieur Madeleine! Mr. Mayor! He cannot hear me. Climb out, please." He pulls his hair. There was a sharp rattling sound in the distant woods.The iron gates of the cemetery were closed. Fauchelevent lowered his head to look at Jean Valjean, jumped up suddenly, and retreated to the wall of the pit.Jean Valjean opened his eyes and looked at him. It is terrible to see a dead man, and almost as terrible to see one raised from the dead.Fauchelevent seemed turned into a stone, his face ashen, bewildered, completely overwhelmed by amazement and excitement, he did not know whether he was dealing with a living person or a dead one, and he looked at Jean Valjean, who also looked at Jean Valjean. looking at him. "I fell asleep," said Jean Valjean. He sat up. Fauchelevent knelt down. "Holy Mother of justice and mercy! You frighten me so badly!" Then he stood up again and said aloud: "Thank you, Grandpa Madeleine!" Jean Valjean only fainted for a while.The fresh air revived him again. Joy is the answer to terror.Fauchelevent had almost as much effort as Jean Valjean to regain consciousness. "So you're not dead! Oh! What a joke you are, you! It took me to scream a thousand times before you woke up. When I saw your eyes closed, I said: 'Well! He's suffocated. 'I've become almost a rotten lunatic, a rotten lunatic who has to wear a rope vest. I might be sent to Bisset. What would you call me if you were dead? And your little girl The proprietress of the fruit shop will also feel baffled! I pushed the child into her arms, but when I turned around, I said that my father-in-law was dead! What a strange thing! My saints and sages in heaven, what a strange thing! Ah! You To be alive is the best thing." "I am cold," said Jean Valjean. These words brought Fauchelevent completely back to reality, when the situation was urgent.Although these two people had come to their senses, neither of them felt that their minds were still in a daze, and there was still a strange phenomenon in their hearts, that is, they were not fully aware of the dangerous situation at that time. "Let us get out of here quickly," cried Fauchelevent. He took out a gourd bottle from his pocket, which he had prepared earlier. "Take a sip first," he said. The gourd bottle had completed the effect begun by the fresh air, and Jean Valjean felt completely restored after taking a long gulp of the brandy. He climbed out of the coffin and helped Fauchelevent screw the lid on again. Three minutes later they were outside the grave. Fauchelevent was relieved.He took his time.The cemetery gates are closed.Don't worry about the sudden arrival of Glibier, the burial worker.The "boy" was looking for his card at home, and he could never find it in his house, because it was in Fauchelevent's pocket.Without a card, he can't go to the graveyard. Fauchelevent, with his shovel, and Jean Valjean, with his pick, buried the empty coffin together. When the pit was filled, Fauchelevent said to Jean Valjean: "Let's go. I have the shovel and you the pick." It was already dark. Jean Valjean was walking, but not very well.He was dead asleep in that coffin, kind of a zombie.In those four planks the joints were hardened as dead.He had to somehow recover from the chill of the ice pit first. "You are frozen," said Fauchelevent. "It's a pity I'm crippled; otherwise we could have had a quick run." "Never mind!" replied Jean Valjean. "Take four steps and my legs are back again." They followed the trails that had been taken by the lead hearse.Reaching the closed iron gate and the porter's pavilion, Fauchelevent took the burial worker's card and dropped it in the box, and the porter pulled the rope, and the door opened, and they came out. "How convenient!" said Fauchelevent. "What an idea, Grandpa Madeleine!" They passed the Vaugirard gate easily and without difficulty.Around the cemetery, a shovel and a pick are two passes. There was no one in the Rue Vaugirard. "Grandpa Madeleine," said Fauchelevent, raising his eyes to the houses in the street, "you have better eyes than mine. Please tell me where number eighty-seven is." "It is here, by coincidence," said Jean Valjean. "There is no one in the street," continued Fauchelevent; "give me the pick and wait two minutes." Fauchelevent entered No. 87, and driven by that instinct which always leads the poor to the uppermost floors, he went straight up, knocking in the dark on the door of an attic.A personal voice answered: "please come in." That was Glibier's voice. Fauchelevent opened the door.The burial-man's house, like all the dwellings of the poor, was an unfurnished and over-stuffed hive.A wooden shipping box—perhaps a coffin—replaced the cupboard, a cream bowl for the water basin, straw pallets for the bed, and a tiled floor for the chairs and table.In one corner was a ragged mattress, the remains of a ragged carpet, and on it, a thin woman and many children, all huddled together.Everything in this poor family still has the traces of looking around for a while.It could almost be said that there was a "personal" earthquake there.Many things were uncovered, rags were strewn about, the crocks were broken, the mother had wept, and the children had perhaps been beaten, the traces of an obstinate and angry search.Apparently the burial worker had been frantically looking for his card, and he blamed the loss on everything and everyone in the wretched nest, from the crock to his wife.He is sad and disappointed. But Fauchelevent, in his haste to put an end to the perilous situation at that time, was entirely oblivious to the unfortunate side of his victory. He went in and said: "I have brought your pick and shovel." Gribier looked at him with a face full of panic and said: "Is that you, redneck?" "You can get your card from the porter at the cemetery tomorrow morning." Meanwhile he put the shovel and pick on the tiled floor. "What do you mean?" asked Gribier. "That is to say: you let your card fall out of your pocket, and when you were gone, I picked it up from the ground, I buried the dead man, I filled the pit, I did it for you When the work is over, the porter will return your card to you, and you will not have to pay fifteen francs. That's it, boy." "Thank you, village old man!" Gribier exclaimed happily, "Next time I drink, I will pay the bill."