In Paris, Valjean takes refuge in a dilapidated house in an outlying district. The only other tenant is an old woman who also performs the functions of caretaker. Passing off Cosette as his granddaughter and himself as a bourgeois ruined by unlucky investments, he lives quietly and at last happily. He lavishes on the little girl his immense reservoir of long-suppressed affection and she responds with equal love. He teaches her to read or simply watches her undress her doll. Cosette plays, chatters, and sings.
The world seems to have forgotten Jean Valjean, but he continues to take infinite precautions. He only goes out at night, sometimes with Cosette, sometimes alone, always choosing back alleys and deserted neighborhoods. His only contact with society is a visit to church or giving charity to a beggar.
He does not, however, remain undisturbed long. The old caretaker, tirelessly inquisitive, watches his every move. One day, through a crack in the door, she catches him taking a 1,000-franc bill from the lining of his coat. A moment later he approaches her and asks her to go change it, saying it is a dividend he has just received. But as he only goes out at night after the post office is closed, his explanation is highly suspicious. A few days later, the room is momentarily deserted and the old woman creeps in to examine the intriguing coat. The lining is filled with paper — no doubt more bills — and the pockets with such incriminating objects as needles, scissors, and a collection of wigs.
