The Bishop stepped forward, and at the noise of his footsteps the seated man turned his head, and his face expressed all the surprise it is possible to feel after a long life.
"Since I have lived here," he said, "you are the first person who has come to me. Who may you be, sir?"
The Bishop answered, "My name is Bienvenu Myriel."
"I have heard that name uttered. Are you not he whom the peasants call Monseigneur Welcome?"
"I am."
The old man continued, with a half-smile, "In that case you are my Bishop?"
"A little."
"Come in, sir."
The conventionalist offered his hand to the Bishop, but the Bishop did not take it—he confined himself to saying,—
"I am pleased to see that I was deceived. You certainly do not look ill."