"Between ourselves, the remark rather shocked me.
My brother replied:--
"`They are more fatigued than I.'
"`No,' returned the man, `they have more money.
You are poor; I see that plainly.
You cannot be even a curate.
Are you really a cure?
Ah, if the good God were but just, you certainly ought to be a cure!'
"`The good God is more than just,' said my brother.
"A moment later he added:--
"`Monsieur Jean Valjean, is it to Pontarlier that you are going?'
"`With my road marked out for me.'
"I think that is what the man said.
Then he went on:--
"`I must be on my way by daybreak to-morrow. Travelling is hard. If the nights are cold, the days are hot.'
"`You are going to a good country,' said my brother.
`During the Revolution my family was ruined.
I took refuge in Franche-Comte at first, and there I lived for some time by the toil of my hands. My will was good.
I found plenty to occupy me.
One has only to choose. There are paper mills, tanneries, distilleries, oil factories, watch factories on a large scale, steel mills, copper works, twenty iron foundries at least, four of which, situated at Lods, at Chatillon, at Audincourt, and at Beure, are tolerably large.'