Toussaint, in her stupefaction, could only answer,—
"I beg your pardon, sir."
Jean Valjean continued,—
"Did you not say just now that they were fighting?"
"Oh yes, sir," Toussaint replied; "over at St. Merry."
There are some mechanical movements which come to us, without our cognizance, from our deepest thoughts. It was doubtless under the impulse of a movement of this nature, of which he was scarce conscious, that Jean Valjean found himself five minutes later in the street. He was bareheaded, and sat down on the bench before his house, seemingly listening.
Night had set in.