A gardener is a bit of a grave-digger.She is placed in a lower hall of the church which communicates with the street，and into which no man may enter save the doctor of the dead.
I don't count the undertaker's men and myself as men.
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.
The Mother Prioress wants me.
Good，now I am pricking myself on the tongue of my buckle.
Monsieur Madeleine，don't stir from here，and wait for me.
Something new has come up.If you are hungry，there is wine，bread and cheese.'
And he hastened out of the hut，crying：
'Coming！coming！'
Jean Valjean watched him hurrying across the garden as fast as his crooked leg would permit，casting a sidelong glance by the way on his melon patch.
Less than ten minutes later，Father Fauchelevent，whose bell put the nuns in his road to flight，tapped gently at a door，and a gentle voice replied：
'Forever！
Forever！'that is to say：
'Enter.'
The door was the one leading to the parlor reserved for seeing the gardener on business.
This parlor adjoined the hall.The prioress，seated on the only chair in the parlor，was waiting for Fauchelevent.
BOOK EIGHTH.——CEMETERIES TAKE THAT WHICH IS COMMITTED THEM
Ⅱ FAUCHELEVENT IN THE PRESENCE OF A DIFFICULTY
It is the peculiarity of certain persons and certain professions，notably priests and nuns，to wear a grave and agitated air on critical occasions.
At the moment when Fauchelevent entered，this double form of preoccupation was imprinted on the countenance of the prioress，who was that wise and charming Mademoiselle de Blemeur，Mother Innocente，who was ordinarily cheerful.
The gardener made a timid bow，and remained at the door of the cell.The prioress，who was telling her beads，raised her eyes and said：——
'Ah！it is you，Father Fauvent.'
This abbreviation had been adopted in the convent.
Fauchelevent bowed again.
'Father Fauvent，I have sent for you.'
'Here I am，reverend Mother.'
'I have something to say to you.'
'And so have I，'said Fauchelevent with a boldness which caused him inward terror，'I have something to say to the very reverend Mother.'
The prioress stared at him.
'Ah！you have a communication to make to me.'
'A request.'
'Very well，speak.'
Goodman Fauchelevent，the ex-notary，belonged to the category of peasants who have assurance.
A certain clever ignorance constitutes a force；you do not distrust it，and you are caught by it.Fauchelevent had been a success during the something more than two years which he had passed in the convent.
Always solitary and busied about his gardening，he had nothing else to do than to indulge his curiosity.
As he was at a distance from all those veiled women passing to and fro，he saw before him only an agitation of shadows.By dint of attention and sharpness he had succeeded in clothing all those phantoms with flesh，and those corpses were alive for him.He was like a deaf man whose sight grows keener，and like a blind man whose hearing becomes more acute.
He had applied himself to riddling out the significance of the different peals，and he had succeeded，so that this taciturn and enigmatical cloister possessed no secrets for him；the sphinx babbled all her secrets in his ear.Fauchelevent knew all and concealed all；that constituted his art.The whole convent thought him stupid.
A great merit in religion.The vocal mothers made much of Fauchelevent.
He was a curious mute.He inspired confidence.
Moreover，he was regular，and never went out except for well-demonstrated requirements of the orchard and vegetable garden.
This discretion of conduct had inured to his credit.None the less，he had set two men to chattering：
the porter，in the convent，and he knew the singularities of their parlor，and the grave-digger，at the cemetery，and he was acquainted with the peculiarities of their sepulture；in this way，he possessed a double light on the subject of these nuns，one as to their life，the other as to their death.
But he did not abuse his knowledge.The congregation thought a great deal of him.
Old，lame，blind to everything，probably a little deaf into the bargain，——what qualities！They would have found it difficult to replace him.
The goodman，with the assurance of a person who feels that he is appreciated，entered into a rather diffuse and very deep rustic harangue to the reverend prioress.
