her side.
Oh! cursed be the hour I saw that sight,
And cursed be the place! I saw those eyes
That used to look such passion into mine
Turned with the selfsame look to other eyes,
Yes, light blue eyes, that upward gazed at him.
I could not bear their bliss.
I scarcely knew what happened then; I knew
I felt for the stiletto in my vest
With purpose that was half mechanical,
As if a demon used my hand for his.
I felt the red blood singing through my brain,
I struck--before me, at my feet, she fell.

Who was the queen then? Ah! your rank and wealth,
Your pearls and splendors--what did they avail
Against the sharp stiletto's little point?
You should have thought of that before you dared--
You had all the world beside--to steal
The only treasure that the Roman girl e'er had.
You will not smile again as then you smiled.
Thank God, you'll never smile again for him!
I was avenged, avenged, until I saw
The dreadful look he gave me as he turned
From her dead face and looked in mine. Ah, God!
It haunts me, scares me, will not let me sleep.

When will he come and tell me he forgives
And loves me still? Oh, bid him come,
Come quickly, come and let me die in peace.
I could not help it; I was mad;
But I repent, I suffer; he at least
Should pity and forgive. Oh, make him come
And say he loves me, and then let me die.
I shall be ready then to die; but now
I cannot think of God; my heart is hell,
Until I know he loves me still.

JEAN VALJEAN AND THE GOOD BISHOP[78]

VICTOR HUGO

Early in the month of October, 1815, about an hour before sunset, a man
who was traveling on foot, entered the little town of Digne, France.

It would be difficult to encounter a wayfarer of more wretched
appearance. He was a man of medium stature, thick-set and robust. He
might have been forty-six or forty-eight years old. A cap with a
drooping leather visor partly concealed his face, which, burned and
tanned by the sun and wind, was dripping with perspiration. He wore a
cravat which was twisted into a long string; trousers of blue drilling
worn and threadbare, and an old gray tattered blouse, patched on one of
the elbows with a bit of green cotton cloth, sewed on with a twine
string. On his back, a soldier's knapsack, well buckled and perfectly
new; in his hand, an enormo