It is in that hall that I nail up the coffin. The undertaker's men come and get it, and whip up, coachman! that's the way one goes to heaven.
They fetch a box with nothing in it, they take it away again with something in it.
That's what a burial is like.
De profundis."
A horizontal ray of sunshine lightly touched the face of the sleeping Cosette, who lay with her mouth vaguely open, and had the air of an angel drinking in the light.
Jean Valjean had fallen to gazing at her.
He was no longer listening to Fauchelevent.
That one is not listened to is no reason for preserving silence. The good old gardener went on tranquilly with his babble:--
"The grave is dug in the Vaugirard cemetery.
They declare that they are going to suppress that Vaugirard cemetery.
It is an ancient cemetery which is outside the regulations, which has no uniform, and which is going to retire.
It is a shame, for it is convenient. I have a friend there, Father Mestienne, the grave-digger. The nuns here possess one privilege, it is to be taken to that cemetery at nightfall.
There is a special permission from the Prefecture on their behalf.
But how many events have happened since yesterday! Mother Crucifixion is dead, and Father Madeleine--"
"Is buried," said Jean Valjean, smiling sadly.
Fauchelevent caught the word.
"Goodness! if you were here for good, it would be a real burial."
A fourth peal burst out.
Fauchelevent hastily detached the belled knee-cap from its nail and buckled it on his knee again.
"This time it is for me.