'One named Little Gervais？'
'I have seen no one.'
He drew two five-franc pieces from his money-bag and handed them to the priest.
'Monsieur le Cure，this is for your poor people.
Monsieur le Cure，he was a little lad，about ten years old，with a marmot，I think，and a hurdy-gurdy.One of those Savoyards，you know？'
'I have not seen him.'
'Little Gervais？
There are no villages here？
Can you tell me？'
'If he is like what you say，my friend，he is a little stranger.Such persons pass through these parts.
We know nothing of them.'
Jean Valjean seized two more coins of five francs each with violence，and gave them to the priest.
'For your poor，'he said.
Then he added，wildly：——
'Monsieur l'Abbe，have me arrested.
I am a thief.'
The priest put spurs to his horse and fled in haste，much alarmed.
Jean Valjean set out on a run，in the direction which he had first taken.
In this way he traversed a tolerably long distance，gazing，calling，shouting，but he met no one.
Two or three times he ran across the plain towards something which conveyed to him the effect of a human being reclining or crouching down；it turned out to be nothing but brushwood or rocks nearly on a level with the earth.At length，at a spot where three paths intersected each other，he stopped.
The moon had risen.
He sent his gaze into the distance and shouted for the last time，'Little Gervais！
Little Gervais！Little Gervais！'
His shout died away in the mist，without even awakening an echo.
He murmured yet once more，'Little Gervais！'but in a feeble and almost inarticulate voice.
It was his last effort；his legs gave way abruptly under him，as though an invisible power had suddenly overwhelmed him with the weight of his evil conscience；he fell exhausted，on a large stone，his fists clenched in his hair and his face on his knees，and he cried，'I am a wretch！'
Then his heart burst，and he began to cry.
It was the first time that he had wept in nineteen years.
When Jean Valjean left the Bishop's house，he was，as we have seen，quite thrown out of everything that had been his thought hitherto.He could not yield to the evidence of what was going on within him.He hardened himself against the angelic action and the gentle words of the old man.
'You have promised me to become an honest man.I buy your soul.
I take it away from the spirit of perversity；I give it to the good God.'
This recurred to his mind unceasingly.
To this celestial kindness he opposed pride，which is the fortress of evil within us.He was indistinctly conscious that the pardon of this priest was the greatest assault and the most formidable attack which had moved him yet；that his obduracy was finally settled if he resisted this clemency；that if he yielded，he should be obliged to renounce that hatred with which the actions of other men had filled his soul through so many years，and which pleased him；that this time it was necessary to conquer or to be conquered；and that a struggle，a colossal and final struggle，had been begun between his viciousness and the goodness of that man.
In the presence of these lights，he proceeded like a man who is intoxicated.
As he walked thus with haggard eyes，did he have a distinct perception of what might result to him from his adventure at D——？Did he understand all those mysterious murmurs which warn or importune the spirit at certain moments of life？Did a voice whisper in his ear that he had just passed the solemn hour of his destiny；that there no longer remained a middle course for him；that if he were not henceforth the best of men，he would be the worst；that it behooved him now，so to speak，to mount higher than the Bishop，or fall lower than the convict；that if he wished to become good be must become an angel；that if he wished to remain evil，he must become a monster？
Here，again，some questions must be put，which we have already put to ourselves elsewhere：
did he catch some shadow of all this in his thought，in a confused way？
Misfortune certainly，as we have said，does form the education of the intelligence；nevertheless，it is doubtful whether Jean Valjean was in a condition to disentangle all that we have here indicated.
If these ideas occurred to him，he but caught glimpses of，rather than saw them，and they only succeeded in throwing him into an unutterable and almost painful state of emotion.
On emerging from that black and deformed thing which is called the galleys，the Bishop had hurt his soul，as too vivid a light would have hurt his eyes on emerging from the dark.
The future life，the possible life which offered itself to him henceforth，all pure and radiant，filled him with tremors and anxiety.
He no longer knew where he really was.
Like an owl，who should suddenly see the sun rise，the convict had been dazzled and blinded，as it were，by virtue.
That which was certain，that which he did not doubt，was that he was no longer the same man，that everything about him was changed，that it was no longer in his power to make it as though the Bishop had not spoken to him and had not touched him.
In this state of mind he had encountered little Gervais，and had robbed him of his forty sous.
Why？
He certainly could not have explained it；was this the last effect and the supreme effort，as it were，of the evil thoughts which he had brought away from the galleys，——a remnant of impulse，a result of what is called in statics，acquired force？
It was that，and it was also，perhaps，even less than that.
Let us say it simply，it was not he who stole；it was not the man；it was the beast，who，by habit and instinct，had simply placed his foot upon that money，while the intelligence was struggling amid so many novel and hitherto unheard-of thoughts besetting it.
When intelligence re-awakened and beheld that action of the brute，Jean Valjean recoiled with anguish and uttered a cry of terror.
It was because，——strange phenomenon，and one which was possible only in the situation in which he found himself，——in stealing the money from that child，he had done a thing of which he was no longer capable.
