Jean Valjean left the town as though he were fleeing it again. He set out so hastily through the fields, he took whatever road or path he came upon and did not realize he actually was running in circles. He wandered around like this the entire morning, without having eaten anything, yet without feeling hungry.
He was at the mercy of a number of new sensations and thoughts. He was aware of a sense of rage but he did not know against whom it was directed. And in light of the words spoken by the bishop, he did not know whether to feel touched or humiliated. At times a new strange emotion overcame him—one that struck at the hardness he had acquired over the past twenty years of his life. This state of mind wearied him.
As the long day finally came to an end, with the sun casting long shadows across the landscape, Valjean found himself on a large plain that was absolutely deserted. He saw nothing on the horizon except the Alps—not even a church spire from a distant village. He had walked some nine or ten miles from Digne and was now seated near a path that cut across the open plain.
While still in the midst of his distressing thoughts, suddenly he heard a joyful sound that was barely audible. Turning his head, he saw a young lad of ten or twelve years, obviously from Savoy in southeastern France, walking down the path singing. He had a hurdy-gurdy crank organ hanging from his hip, while a small box on his back held a tiny monkey. The boy was one of those happy and gentle children who traveled from place to place with their knees showing through the holes in their trousers.
As he walked, from time to time he would playfully toss a few coins into the air. These coins probably represented his entire fortune, and among them was a forty-sou piece. The child stopped next to a bush near Jean Valjean yet without seeing him. He tossed his coins once more, but although he had been catching all of them quite skillfully, he now dropped the forty-sou piece. It rolled across the ground straight toward Valjean, who stamped his foot upon it.
The young lad, who had followed the path of his coin, walked straight over to the man. “Sir,” said the child, innocently and with childish confidence, “that’s my money.”
“What’s your name?” asked Valjean.
“Little Gervais, sir.”
“Go away,” retorted Valjean.
“Sir,” resumed the child, “give me back my money.” Valjean simply dropped his head, making no reply. The child began again, “My money, sir.” Yet Valjean’s eyes remained fixed on the ground. “Give me my money!” cried the child. “Give me my piece of silver!”
It seemed as though Valjean did not hear him, so the child grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and shook him. Then he tried unsuccessfully to move Valjean’s big iron-toed shoe from atop his treasure. Once again he yelled, “I want my silver! My forty-sou piece!”
The child began to weep. Valjean looked up but remained seated. He had a perplexed look on his face and simply stared at the child. Then grabbing his walking stick, he yelled in a strange voice, “Who’s there?”
Little Gervais, pleading with Jean Valjean to move his foot, “Sir, that’s my money.”
“I, sir, am Little Gervais!” replied the child. “Please give me back my forty sous! Take your foot away, sir!”
Valjean responded, still seemingly confused, “Oh, it’s you! You’re still here?” He then abruptly stood to his feet with his shoe remaining over the piece of silver and shouted at the child, “Go away!”
The child, now trembling in fear, stared at him for a moment but suddenly turned and ran away as fast as his short legs would carry him. He did not even dare to look back. Yet with all he was carrying, the child was forced to stop to catch his breath just a short distance away. Valjean heard the lad sobbing in spite of being absorbed in his own thoughts.
Some time later the child had disappeared and the sun had completely set. Darkness now surrounded Valjean; he had eaten nothing all day, and he had a bit of a fever. He had stood in place, not moving a muscle, ever since the lad had run away. His breathing was heavy, and suddenly he shivered as he began to feel the chill of the evening air. He then firmly pulled his cap over his forehead, somewhat mechanically pulled his jacket closed and began to button it, and stooped to grab his walking stick once again.
At that moment, he caught sight of the forty-sou piece his foot had ground halfway into the dirt, but which was now shining among the pebbles. A look of total shock flashed across his face as he muttered between his teeth, “What is this?” Valjean stepped back several steps, unable to detach his gaze from the coin, as though it were an eye intently staring back at him. He darted toward the coin, seized it, and stood erect again, while convulsively shivering and casting his eyes toward the horizon like a wild animal seeking a place of refuge.
All at once, he began running in the same direction the child had traveled. After about thirty paces he stopped and looked around but saw nothing. Then he shouted with all his might, “Little Gervais! Little Gervais!” He paused for a moment, yet there was no reply. Valjean began to run again and from time to time would stop to shout into the solitude, “Little Gervais! Little Gervais!”
In this same manner, he covered a very long distance, searching and shouting, but he saw no one. Finally, as the moon was rising, he stopped where three paths intersected. He gazed into the distance and shouted for the last time, “Little Gervais! Little Gervais! Little Gervais!” His shouts died away in the mist without even awakening an echo. Valjean muttered yet again, “Little Gervais!” but in a feeble and nearly inaudible voice.
This was his final effort. Suddenly his legs gave way beneath him, as though an invisible power had abruptly overwhelmed him with the weight of his evil deeds. He fell onto a large stone, now totally exhausted, with his fists clenched in his hair and his face on his knees. In grief he cried out, “I am a miserable, despicable person!”
As his heart seemed to burst, he began to weep uncontrollably. It was the first time he had wept in nineteen years. While his tears continued to flow, it seemed a bright and glorious light deeply penetrated his soul. It was extraordinarily bright and was delightful and fearsome at the same time. His past life—everything from his first sin, his inward hardness, his nineteen years in prison, his plans of taking vengeance into his own hands, his theft at the bishop’s, and even his latest sin of stealing forty sous from a mere child—flashed across his mind. This latest sin seemed all the more monstrous and cowardly since it had come immediately after receiving the bishop’s pardon. Valjean had never witnessed anything so penetrating, nor had he ever been confronted with the magnitude of his sins so clearly.
As he continued to examine his life, it seemed horrible to him, and the darkness of his soul frightened him. Yet in the meantime, a gentle but bright light rested over his life and his soul. To Valjean it was as though he beheld the light of Heaven shining into the heart of a man who had been filled with the deeds of Satan himself.
No one knows how long Jean Valjean wept like this or what he did afterward. And no one knows where he went next. No one ever knew. The only thing known for sure is that on that very same night a messenger who arrived in Digne about three o’clock in the morning saw a man kneeling, as if in prayer, on the shadowed pavement outside the door of the bishop’s residence.