CHAPTER I

At that age, and on that boulevard, eight o'clock in the evening was the dead of the night. 　　"That is true, by the way," he replied, in the most natural tone possible. 　　"Who was it?" 　　"It was a new lodger who has come into the house," said the old woman. 　　"And what is his name?" 　　"I don't know exactly; Dumont, or Daumont, or some name of that sort." 　　"And who is this Monsieur Dumont?" 　　The old woman gazed at him with her little polecat eyes, and answered:-- 　　"A gentleman of property, like yourself." 　　Perhaps she had no ulterior meaning. 　　Jean Valjean thought he perceived one. 　　When the old woman had taken her departure, he did up a hundred francs which he had in a cupboard, into a roll, and put it in his pocket. In spite of all the precautions which he took in this operation so that he might not be heard rattling silver, a hundred-sou piece escaped from his hands and rolled noisily on the floor. 　　When darkness came on, he descended and carefully scrutinized both sides of the boulevard. 　　He saw no one. 　　The boulevard appeared to be absolutely deserted. 　　It is true that a person can conceal himself behind trees. 　　He went up stairs again. 　　"Come." 　　he said to Cosette. 　　He took her by the hand, and they both went out. BOOK FIFTH.--FOR A BLACK HUNT, A MUTE PACK CHAPTER I 　　THE ZIGZAGS OF STRATEGY 　　An observation here becomes necessary, in view of the pages which the reader is about to peruse, and of others which will be met with further on. 　　The author of this book, who regrets the necessity of mentioning himself, has been absent from Paris for many years. 　　Paris has been transformed since he quitted it. 　　A new city has arisen, which is, after a fashion, unknown to him. 　　There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris: Paris is his mind's natal city. 　　In consequence of demolitions and reconstructions, the Paris of his youth, that Paris which he bore away religiously in his memory, is now a Paris of days gone by. He must be permitted to speak of that Paris as though it still existed. It is possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and says, "In such a street there stands such and such a house," neither street nor house will any longer exist in that locality. Readers may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble. For his own part, he is unacquainted with the new Paris, and he writes with the old Paris before his eyes in an illusion which is precious to him.