[_The room is dark, except for a faint light that comes in through
window curtains._ JEAN VALJEAN _creeps in from the alcove. He
carries his knapsack and cudgel in one hand; in the other, his shoes. He
opens the window overlooking the garden; the room becomes lighter. Jean
steps to the mantel and lifts a silver candlestick._]

JEAN (_whispering_). Two hundred francs--double what I have
earned in nineteen years!

[_He puts it in his knapsack; takes up the other candlestick; shudders,
and sets it down again._]

No, no, he is good--he called me "sir"--

[_He stands still, staring before him, his hand still gripping the
candlestick. Suddenly he straightens up; speaks bitterly._]

Why not? 'Tis easy to give a bed and food! Why doesn't he keep men from
the galleys? Nineteen years for a loaf of bread!

[_Pauses a moment, then resolutely puts both candlesticks into his bag;
steps to the cupboard and takes out the silver plates and the ladle, and
slips them into the bag._]

All solid--I should gain at least one thousand francs. 'Tis due me--due
me for all these years!

[_Closes the bag. Pause._]