No one would have dared to mention them

all that was known was, that when he returned from Italy he was a priest.

　　In 1804, M. Myriel was the Cure of B---- [Brignolles]. He was already advanced in years, and lived in a very retired manner.

　　About the epoch of the coronation, some petty affair connected with his curacy--just what, is not precisely known--took him to Paris.

　　Among other powerful persons to whom he went to solicit aid for his parishioners was M. le Cardinal Fesch.

　　One day, when the Emperor had come to visit his uncle, the worthy Cure, who was waiting in the anteroom, found himself present when His Majesty passed.

　　Napoleon, on finding himself observed with a certain curiosity by this old man, turned round and said abruptly:--

　　"Who is this good man who is staring at me?"

　　"Sire," said M. Myriel, "you are looking at a good man, and I at a great man.

　　Each of us can profit by it."

　　That very evening, the Emperor asked the Cardinal the name of the Cure, and some time afterwards M. Myriel was utterly astonished to learn that he had been appointed Bishop of D----

　　What truth was there, after all, in the stories which were invented as to the early portion of M. Myriel's life?

　　No one knew. Very few families had been acquainted with the Myriel family before the Revolution.

　　M. Myriel had to undergo the fate of every newcomer in a little town, where there are many mouths which talk, and very few heads which think. He was obliged to undergo it although he was a bishop, and because he was a bishop.

　　But after all, the rumors with which his name was connected were rumors only,--noise, sayings, words; less than words-- palabres, as the energetic language of the South expresses it.

　　However that may be, after nine years of episcopal power and of residence in D----, all the stories and subjects of conversation which engross petty towns and petty people at the outset had fallen into profound oblivion.

　　No one would have dared to mention them; no one would have dared to recall them.

　　M. Myriel had arrived at D---- accompanied by an elderly spinster, Mademoiselle Baptistine, who was his sister, and ten years his junior.

　　Their only domestic was a female servant of the same age as Mademoiselle Baptistine, and named Madame Magloire, who, after having been the servant of M. le Cure, now assumed the double title of maid to Mademoiselle and housekeeper to Monseigneur.

　　Mademoiselle Baptistine was a long, pale, thin, gentle creature; she realized the ideal expressed by the word "respectable"; for it seems that a woman must needs be a mother in order to be venerable. She had never been pretty; her whole life, which had been nothing but a succession of holy deeds, had finally conferred upon her a sort of pallor and transparency; and as she advanced in years she had acquired what may be called the beauty of goodness. What had been leanness in her youth had become transparency in her maturity; and this diaphaneity allowed the angel to be seen. She was a soul rather than a virgin.

　　Her person seemed made of a shadow; there was hardly sufficient body to provide for sex; a little matter enclosing a light; large eyes forever drooping;-- a mere pretext for a soul's remaining on the earth.