Book II

“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 tomorrow. 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-Comté 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 Châtillon, at Audincourt, and at Beure, are tolerably large.” I think I am not mistaken in saying that those are the names which my brother mentioned. Then he interrupted himself and addressed me:⁠— “Have we not some relatives in those parts, my dear sister?” I replied⁠— “We did have some; among others, M. de Lucenet, who was captain of the gates at Pontarlier under the old regime.” “Yes,” resumed my brother; “but in ’93, one had no longer any relatives, one had only one’s arms. I worked. They