"That is true."
"Monsieur Madeleine," Fauchelevent continued, "you have arrived at a very lucky moment, I ought to say a very unhappy one, for one of our ladies is dangerously ill. In consequence of this, folk will not look much this way. It seems that she is dying, and the forty hours' prayers are being said. The whole community is aroused, and that occupies them. The person who is on the point of going off is a saint. In fact, though, we are all saints here; the only difference between them and me is that they say 'our cell,' and I say 'my cottage.' There will be a service for the dying, and then the service for the dead. For to-day we shall be all quiet here; but I do not answer for to-morrow."
"Still," Jean Valjean observed, "this cottage is retired; it is hidden by a sort of ruin; there are trees, and it cannot be seen from the convent."
"And I may add that the nuns never approach it."
"Well?" Jean Valjean asked.
The interrogation that marked this "well" signified "I fancy that we can remain concealed here," and it was to this interrogation that Fauchelevent replied:
"There are the little ones."
"What little ones?" Jean Valjean asked.
As Fauchelevent opened his mouth to answer, a stroke rang out from a bell.
"The nun is dead," he said, "that is the knell."