Les Miserables (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (80 page)

“Then speak quickly.”

This man, calm and abrupt, was at the same time alarming and reassuring. He inspired fear and confidence. Marius related his adventure.—That a person whom he only knew by sight was to be drawn into an ambush that very evening; that occupying the room next the place, he, Marius Pontmercy, attorney, had heard the whole plot through the partition; that the scoundrel who had contrived the plot was named Jondrette; that he had accomplices, probably prowlers of the barrières, among others a certain Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille; that Jondrette’s daughters would stand watch; that there was no means of warning the threatened man, as not even his name was known; and finally, that all this was to be done at six o‘clock that evening, at the most desolate spot on the Boulevard de l’Hôpital, in the house numbered 50-52.

At that number the inspector raised his head, and said coolly:

“It is then in the room at the end of the hall?”

“Exactly,” said Marius, and he added, “Do you know that house?”

The inspector remained silent a moment, then answered, warming the heel of his boot at the door of the stove:

“It seems so.”

He continued between his teeth, speaking less to Marius than to his cravat.

“There ought to be a dash of Patron-Minette in this.”

That word struck Marius.

“Patron-Minette,” said he. “Indeed, I heard that word pronounced.”

And he related to the inspector the dialogue between the long-haired man and the bearded man in the snow behind the wall on the Rue du Petit Banquier.

The inspector muttered:

“The long-haired one must be Brujon, and the bearded one must be Demi-Liard, alias Deux-Milliards.”

He had dropped his eyes again, and was considering.

“As to the Father What‘s-his-name, I have a suspicion of who he is. There, I have burnt my coat. They always make too much fire in these cursed stoves. Number 50-52. Old Gorbeau property.”

Then he looked at Marius:

“You have seen only this bearded man and this long-haired man?”

“And Panchaud.”

“You did not see a sort of little devilish rat prowling about there?”

“No.”

“Nor a great, big, clumsy heap, like the elephant in the Jardin des Plantes?”

“No.”

“Nor a villain who has the appearance of an old red cue?”

“No.”

“As to the fourth nobody sees him, not even his helpers, clerks, and agents. It is not very surprising that you did not see him.”

“No. What are all these beings?” inquired Marius.

The inspector answered:

“And then it is not their hour.”

He relapsed into silence, then resumed:

“No. 50-52. I know the shanty. Impossible to hide ourselves in the interior without the artists perceiving us, then they would leave and break up the play. They are so modest! the public bothers them. No way, no way. I want to hear them sing, and make them dance.”

This monologue finished, he turned towards Marius and asked him looking steadily at him:

“Will you be afraid?”

“Of what?” said Marius.

“Of these men?”

“No more than of you!” replied Marius rudely, who began to notice that this police spy had not yet called him monsieur.

The inspector looked at Marius still more steadily and continued with a sententious solemnity:

“You speak now like a brave man and an honest man. Courage does not fear crime, and honesty does not fear authority.”

Marius interrupted him:

“That is well enough; but what are you going to do?”

The inspector merely answered:

“The lodgers in that house have latch-keys to get in with at night. You must have one?”

“Yes,” said Marius.

“Do you have it with you?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me,” said the inspector.

Marius took his key from his waistcoat, handed it to the inspector, and added:

“If you trust me you will come in force.”

The inspector threw a glance upon Marius such as Voltaire would have thrown upon a provincial academician who had proposed a rhyme to him; with a single movement he plunged both his hands, which were enormous, into the two immense pockets of his overcoat, and took out two small steel pistols, of the kind called fisticuffs. He presented them to Marius, saying hastily and abruptly:

“Take these. Go back home. Hide yourself in your room; let them think you have gone out. They are loaded. Each with two balls. You will watch; there is a hole in the wall, as you have told me. The men will come. Let them go on a little. When you deem the affair at a point, and when it is time to stop it, you will fire off a pistol. Not too soon. The rest is my affair. A pistol shot in the air, into the ceiling, no matter where. Above all, not too soon. Wait till they start committing the felony; you are a lawyer, you know what that is.”

Marius took the pistols and put them in the side pocket of his coat.

“They make a bulge that way, they show,” said the inspector. “Put them in your vest pockets rather.”

Marius hid the pistols in his vest pockets.

“Now,” pursued the inspector, “there is not a minute to be lost by anybody. What time is it? Half past two. It is at seven?”

“Six o‘clock,” said Marius.

“I have time enough,” continued the inspector, “but I have only enough. Forget nothing of what I have told you. Bang. A pistol shot.”

“Be assured,” answered Marius.

And as Marius placed his hand on the latch of the door to go out, the inspector called to him:

“By the way, if you need me between now and then, come or send here. You will ask for Inspector Javert.”

ON THE WAY HOME, Marius had in fact seen Jondrette passing along the Rue Mouffetard, and followed him.

Jondrette went straight on without suspecting that there was now an eye fixed upon him.

He left the Rue Mouffetard, and Marius saw him go into one of the most wretched places on the Rue Gracieuse; he stayed there about a quarter of an hour, and then returned to the Rue Mouffetard. He stopped at a hardware store, which there was in those times at the corner of the Rue Pierre Lombard, and, a few minutes afterwards, Marius saw him come out of the shop holding in his hand a large cold chisel with a pine handle which he concealed under his coat. At the upper end of the Rue de Petit Gentilly, he turned to the left and walked rapidly to the Rue du Petit Banquier. Night was falling; the snow which had ceased to fall for a moment was beginning again; Marius hid just at the corner of the Rue du Petit Banquier, which was deserted, as usual, and did not follow Jondrette further. It was fortunate that he did, for, on reaching the low wall where Marius had heard the long-haired man and the bearded man talking, Jondrette turned around, made sure that nobody was following him or saw him, then stepped over the wall, and disappeared.

The grounds which this wall bounded communicated with the rear court of an old livery stable-keeper of bad repute, who had failed, but who had still a few old vehicles under his sheds.

Marius thought it best to take advantage of Jondrette’s absence to get home; besides it was getting late; every evening, Ma‘am Burgon, on going out to wash her dishes in the city, was in the habit of closing the house door, which was always locked at dusk; Marius had given his key to the inspector of police; it was important, therefore, that he should make haste.

Evening had come; night had almost closed in; there was now but one spot in the horizon or in the whole sky which was lighted by the sun; that was the moon.

She was rising red behind the low dome of La Salpêtrière.

Marius returned to No. 50-52 with rapid strides. The door was still open, when he arrived. He ascended the stairs on tiptoe, and glided along the wall of the hall as far as his room. This hall, it will be remembered, was lined on both sides by garrets, which were all at that time empty and to let. Ma‘am Burgon usually left the doors open. As he passed by one of these doors, Marius thought he perceived in the unoccupied cell four motionless heads, which were made dimly visible by a remnant of daylight falling through the little window. Marius, not wishing to be seen, did not endeavour to see. He succeeded in getting into his room without being perceived and without any noise. It was time. A moment afterwards, he heard Ma’am Burgon going out and closing the door of the house.

MARIUS sat down on his bed. It might have been half-past five o‘clock. A half-hour only separated him from what was to come. He heard his arteries beat as one hears the ticking of a watch in the dark. He thought of this double march that was going on that moment in the darkness, crime advancing on the one hand, justice coming on the other. He was not afraid, but he could not think without a sort of shudder of the things which were so soon to take place. To him, as to all those whom some surprising adventure has suddenly befallen, this whole day seemed but a dream; and, to assure himself that he was not the prey of a nightmare, he had to feel the chill of the two steel pistols in his vest pockets.

It was not now snowing; the moon, growing brighter and brighter, was getting clear of the haze, and its light, mingled with the white reflection from the fallen snow, gave the room a twilight appearance.

There was a light in the Jondrette den. Marius saw the hole in the partition shine with a red gleam which appeared to him bloody.

He was sure that this gleam could hardly be produced by a candle. However, there was no movement in their room, nobody was stirring there, nobody spoke, not a breath, the stillness was icy and deep, and save for that light he could have believed that he was beside a sepulchre.

Marius took his boots off softly, and pushed them under his bed.

Some minutes passed. Marius heard the lower door turn on its hinges; a heavy and rapid step ascended the stairs and passed along the corridor, the latch of the garret was noisily lifted; Jondrette came in.

Several voices were heard immediately. The whole family was in the garret. Only they kept silence in the absence of the master, like the cubs in the absence of the wolf.

“It is me,” said he.

“Good evening,
pèremuche,”
squeaked the daughters.

“Well!” said the mother.

“Everything’s going like a charm,” answered Jondrette, “but my feet are as cold as a dog’s. Good, that is right, you are dressed up. You must be able to inspire confidence.”

“All ready to go out.”

“You will forget nothing of what I told you! you will do the whole of it?”

“Rest assured about that.”

“Because—” said Jondrette. And he did not finish his sentence. Marius heard him put something heavy on the table, probably the chisel which he had bought.

“Ah, ha!” said Jondrette, “have you been eating here?”

“Yes,” said the mother, “I have had three big potatoes and some salt. I took advantage of the fire to cook them.”

“Well,” replied Jondrette, “to-morrow I will take you to dine with me. There will be a duck and the accompaniments. You shall dine like Charles X; everything is going well?”

Then he added, lowering his voice:

“The mouse-trap is open. The cats are ready.”

He lowered his voice still more, and said:

“Put that into the fire.”

Marius heard a sound of charcoal, as if somebody were striking it with pincers or some iron tool, and Jondrette continued:

“Have you greased the hinges of the door, so that they shall not make any noise?”

“Yes,” answered the mother.

“What time is it?”

“Six o‘clock, almost. The half has just struck on Saint Médard.”

“The devil!” said Jondrette, “the girls must go and stand watch. Come here, you children, and listen to me.”

There was a whispering.

Jondrette’s voice rose again:

“Has Burgon gone out?”

“Yes,” said the mother.

“Are you sure there is nobody at home in our neighbour’s room?”

“He has not been back to-day, and you know that it is his dinner time.”

“You are sure?”

“Sure.”

“It is all the same,” replied Jondrette; “there is no harm in going to see whether he is at home. Daughter, take the candle and go.”

Marius dropped on his hands and knees, and crept noiselessly under the bed.

Hardly had he concealed himself, when he perceived a light through the cracks of his door.

“P‘pa,” cried a voice, “he has gone out.”

He recognised the voice of the elder girl.

“Have you gone in?” asked the father.

“No,” answered the girl; “but as his key is in the door, he has gone out.”

The father cried:

“Go in just the same.”

The door opened, and Marius saw the tall girl come in with a candle. She had the same appearance as in the morning, except that she was still more horrible in this light.

She walked straight towards the bed. Marius had a moment of inexpressible anxiety, but there was a mirror nailed on the wall near the bed; it was to that she was going. She stretched up on tiptoe and looked at herself in it. A sound of old iron rattling was heard in the next room.

She smoothed her hair with the palm of her hand, and smiled at the mirror, singing the while in her broken sepulchral voice:

Meanwhile Marius was trembling. It seemed impossible to him that she should not hear his breathing.