Near the door, in an old wheel-chair, the arm-chair of the peasants, there was a white-haired man, s

Near the door, in an old wheel-chair, the arm-chair of the peasants, there was a white-haired man, smiling at the sun. Near the seated man stood a young boy, the shepherd lad. He was offering the old man a jar of milk. While the Bishop was watching him, the old man spoke: "Thank you," he said, "I need nothing." And his smile quitted the sun to rest upon the child. The Bishop stepped forward. At the sound which he made in walking, the old man turned his head, and his face expressed the sum total of the surprise which a man can still feel after a long life. "This is the first time since I have been here," said he, "that any one has entered here. Who are you, sir?" The Bishop answered:-- "My name is Bienvenu Myriel." "Bienvenu Myriel? I have heard that name. Are you the man whom the people call Monseigneur Welcome?" "I am." The old man resumed with a half-smile "In that case, you are my bishop?" "Something of that sort." "Enter, sir." The member of the Convention extended his hand to the