CHAPTER XIII
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT
Marius, dreamer though he was, possessed, as we have said, a firm and energetic nature. His habits of solitary contemplation, by developing compassion and sympathy within him, had perhaps diminished the power of being irritated, but left intact the power of becoming indignant: he had the benevolence of a brahmin and the sternness of a judge, and while he pitied a toad he crushed a viper. At present he had a nest of vipers before him, and he said, "I must set my foot upon these villains." Not one of the enigmas which he hoped to see cleared up was solved; on the contrary, they had become more dense, and he had learned no more about the pretty girl of the Luxembourg and the man whom he called M. Leblanc, save that Jondrette knew them. Through the dark words which had been uttered he only saw one thing distinctly, that a snare was preparing, – an obscure but terrible snare; that they both ran an imminent danger, she probably, and the father certainly; and that he must save them, and foil the hideous combinations of the Jondrettes by destroying their spider's web.
He watched the woman for a moment; she had taken an old sheet-iron furnace from the corner, and was rummaging among the scraps of old iron. He got off the chest of drawers as gently as he could, and careful not to make any noise. In his terror at what was preparing, and the horror with which the Jondrettes filled him, he felt a species of joy at the idea that it might perhaps be in his power to render such a service to her whom he loved. But what was he to do? Should he warn the menaced persons? Where was he to find them? for he did not know their address. They had reappeared to him momentarily, and then plunged again into the immense profundities of Paris. Should he wait for M. Leblanc at the gate at the moment when he arrived that evening and warn him of the snare? But Jondrette and his comrades would see him on the watch. The place was deserted, they would be stronger than he, they would find means to get him out of the way, and the man whom Marius wished to save would be lost. It had just struck one, and as the snare was laid for six o'clock, Marius had five hours before him. There was only one thing to be done; he put on his best coat, tied a handkerchief round his neck, took his hat, and went out, making no more noise than if he were walking barefoot on moss; besides, the woman was still rummaging the old iron.
Once outside the house, he turned into the Rue du Petit Banquier. About the middle of the street he found himself near a very low wall, which it was possible to bestride in some places, and which surrounded unoccupied ground. He was walking slowly, deep in thought as he was, and the snow deadened his footsteps, when all at once he heard voices talking close to him. He turned his head, but the street was deserted; it was open day, and yet he distinctly heard the voices. He thought of looking over the wall, and really saw two men seated in the snow, and conversing in a low voice. They were strangers to him: one was a bearded man in a blouse, and the other a hairy man in rags. The bearded man wore a Greek cap, while the other was bareheaded, and had snow in his hair. By thrusting out his head over them Marius could hear the hairy man say to the other, with a nudge, —
"With Patron Minette it cannot fail."
"Do you think so?" asked the bearded man; and the hairy man added, —
"It will be five hundred balls for each, and the worst that can happen is five years, six years, or ten at the most."
The other replied with some hesitation, and shuddering under his Greek cap, —
"That is a reality; and people must not go to meet things of that sort."
"I tell you that the affair cannot fail," the hairy man continued. "Father What's-his-name's trap will be all ready."
Then they began talking of a melodrama which they had seen on the previous evening at the Gaité.
Marius walked on; but it seemed to him that the obscure remarks of these men, so strangely concealed behind this wall, and crouching in the snow, must have some connection with Jondrette's abominable scheme; that must be the affair. He went toward the Faubourg St. Marceau, and asked at the first shop he came to where he could find a police commissary. He was told at No. 14, Rue de Pontoise, and he proceeded there. As he passed a baker's he bought a two-sous roll and ate it, as he foresaw that he should not dine. On the way he rendered justice to Providence. He thought that if he had not given the five francs in the morning to the girl, he should have followed M. Leblanc's hackney coach and consequently known nothing. There would, in that case, have been no obstacle to Jondrettes ambuscade, and M. Leblanc would have been lost, and doubtless his daughter with him.
CHAPTER XIV
A POLICE-AGENT GIVES A LAWYER TWO "KNOCK-ME-DOWNS."
On reaching No. 14, Rue de Pontoise, he went up to the first floor and asked for the commissary.
"He is not in at present," said a clerk, "but there is an inspector to represent him. Will you speak to him? Is your business pressing?"
"Yes," said Marius.
The clerk led him to the commissary's office. A very tall man was leaning here against the fender of a stove, and holding up with both hands the skirts of a mighty coat with three capes. He had a square face, thin and firm lips, thick grayish whiskers, and a look of turning your pockets inside out. Of this look you might have said, not that it penetrated, but that it searched. This man did not appear much less ferocious or formidable than Jondrette; for sometimes it is just as dangerous to meet the dog as the wolf.
"What do you want?" he asked Marius, without adding, "sir."
"The police commissary."
"He is absent, but I represent him."
"It is a very secret affair."
"Then speak."
"And very urgent."
"In that case speak quick."
This man, who was calm and quick, was at once terrifying and reassuring. He inspired both fear and confidence. Marius told him of his adventure; that a person whom he only knew by sight was to be drawn that very evening into a trap; that he, Marius Pontmercy, lawyer, residing in the next room to the den, had heard the whole plot through the partition; that the scoundrel's name who invented the snare was Jondrette; that he would have accomplices, probably prowlers at the barrières, among others one Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille; that Jondrette's daughters would be on the watch; that there were no means of warning the threatened man, as not even his name was known; and that, lastly, all this would come off at six in the evening, at the most deserted spot on the Boulevard de l'Hôpital, in the house No. 50-52.
At this number the Inspector raised his head, and said coldly, —
"It must be in the room at the end of the passage."
"Exactly," Marius replied; and added, "do you know the house?"
The Inspector remained silent for a moment, and then answered, while warming his boot-heel at the door of the stove, —
"Apparently so."
He went on between his teeth, talking less to Marius than his cravat.
"Patron Minette must be mixed up in this."
This remark struck Marius.
"Patron Minette!" he said; "yes, I heard that name mentioned."
And he told the Inspector of the dialogue between the hairy man and the bearded man in the snow behind the wall in the Rue du Petit Banquier. The Inspector growled, —
"The hairy man must be Burgon, and the bearded man, Demi-liard, alias Deux Milliards."
He was again looking down and meditating. "As for Father What's-his-name, I guess who he is. There, I have burnt my great-coat; they always make too large a fire in these cursed stoves. No. 50-52, formerly the property of one Gorbeau."
Then he looked at Marius.
"You only saw the hairy man and the bearded man?"
"And Panchaud."
"You did not see a small dandy prowling about there?"
"No."
"Nor a heavy lump of a fellow resembling the elephant in the Jardin-des Plantes?"
"No."
"Nor a scamp who looks like an old red-tail?"
"No."
"As for the fourth, no one sees him, not even his adjutants, assistants, and those he employs. It is not surprising, therefore, that you did not perceive him."
"No. Who are all these men?" Marius asked.
The Inspector continued: "Besides, it is not their hour." He fell into silence, and presently added, – "50-52. I know the shanty. It is impossible for us to hide ourselves in the interior without the actors perceiving us, and then they would escape by putting off the farce. They are so modest, and frightened at an audience. That won't do, for I want to hear them sing and make them dance."
This soliloquy ended, he turned to Marius, and asked, as he looked at him searchingly, —
"Would you be afraid?"
"Of what?" Marius asked.
"Of these men."
"No more than I am of you," Marius answered roughly, for he was beginning to notice that this policeman had not yet said, "sir."
The Inspector looked at Marius more intently still, and continued, with a sort of sententious solemnity, —
"You speak like a brave man and like an honest man. Courage does not fear crime, nor honesty the authorities."
Marius interrupted him, —
"That is all very well, but what do you intend doing?"
The Inspector restricted himself to saying, —
"The lodgers in that house have latch-keys to let themselves in at night. You have one?"
"Yes," said Marius.
"Have you it about you?"
"Yes."
"Give it to me," the Inspector said.
Marius took the key out of his waistcoat pocket, handed it to the Inspector, and added, —
"If you take my advice you will bring a strong force."
The Inspector gave Marius such a glance as Voltaire would have given a Provincial Academician who proposed a rhyme to him; then he thrust both hands into his immense coat-pockets and produced two small steel pistols, of the sort called "knock-me-downs." He handed them to Marius, saying sharply and quickly, —
"Take these. Go home. Conceal yourself in your room, and let them suppose you out. They are loaded, both with two bullets. You will watch, as you tell me there is a hole in the wall. People will arrive; let them go on a little. When you fancy the matter ripe, and you think it time to stop it, you will fire a pistol, but not too soon. The rest concerns me. A shot in the air, in the ceiling, I don't care where, – but, mind, not too soon. Wait till the commencement of the execution. You are a lawyer, and know what that means."
Marius took the pistols and placed them in a side pocket of his coat.
"They bulge that way, and attract attention," said the Inspector; "put them in your trousers' pockets."
Marius did so.
"And now," the Inspector continued, "there is not a moment for any one to lose. What o'clock is it? Half-past two. You said seven?"
"Six o'clock," Marius corrected.
"I have time," the Inspector added; "but only just time. Do not forget anything I have said to you. A pistol-shot."
"All right." Marius replied.
And as he pat his hand on the latch to leave the room the Inspector shouted to him, —
"By the way, if you should want me between this and then, come or send here. Ask for Inspector Javert."
CHAPTER XV
JONDRETTE MAKES HIS PURCHASE
At about three o'clock Courfeyrac happened to pass along the Rue Mouffetard, accompanied by Bossuet. The snow was thicker than ever, and filled the air, and Bossuet had just said to Courfeyrac, —
"To see all these flakes of snow fall, we might, say that the sky is suffering from a plague of white butterflies."
All at once Bossuet noticed Marius coming up the street toward the barrière with a peculiar look.
"Hilloh!" said Bossuet, "there's Marius."
"I saw him," said Courfeyrac; "but we won't speak to him."
"Why not?"
"He is busy."
"At what?"
"Do you not see that he looks as if he were following some one?"
"That is true," said Bossuet.
"Only see what eyes he makes!" Courfeyrac added.
"But whom the deuce is he following?"
"Some Mimi-Goton with flowers in her cap. He is in love."
"But," Bossuet observed, "I do not see any Mimi or any Goton, or any cap trimmed with flowers, in the street. There is not a single woman."
Courfeyrac looked, and exclaimed, "He is following a man."
A man wearing a cap, and whose gray beard could be distinguished, although his back was turned, was walking about twenty yards ahead of Marius. This man was dressed in a perfectly new great-coat, which was too large for him, and a frightful pair of ragged trousers all black with mud. Bossuet burst into a laugh.
"Who can the man be?"
"That?" Courfeyrac replied; "oh, he is a poet. Poets are fond of wearing the trousers of rabbit-skin pedlers and the coats of the Peers of France."
"Let us see where Marius is going," said Bossuet, "and where this man is going. Suppose we follow them, eh?"
"Bossuet!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, "Eagle of Meaux, you are a prodigious brute to think of following a man who is following a man."
They turned back. Marius had really seen Jondrette in the Rue Mouffetard, and was following him. Jondrette was walking along, not at all suspecting that an eye was already fixed upon him. He left the Rue Mouffetard, and Marius saw him enter one of the most hideous lodging-houses in the Rue Gracieuse, where he remained for about a quarter of an hour, and then returned to the Rue Mouffetard. He stopped at an ironmonger's shop, which was at that period at the corner of the Rue Pierre-Lombard; and a few minutes after Marius saw him come out of the shop, holding a large cold-chisel set in a wooden handle, which he hid under his great coat. He then turned to his left and hurried toward the Rue du Petit Banquier. Day was dying; the snow, which had ceased for a moment, had begun again, and Marius concealed himself at the corner of the Rue du Petit Banquier, which was deserted as usual, and did not follow Jondrette. It was lucky that he acted thus, for Jondrette, on reaching the spot where Marius had listened to the conversation of the hairy man and the bearded man, looked round, made sure that he was not followed, clambered over the wall, and disappeared. The unused ground which this wall enclosed communicated with the back yard of a livery-stable-keeper of bad repute, who had been a bankrupt, and still had a few vehicles standing under sheds.
Marius thought it would be as well to take advantage of Jondrette's absence and return home. Besides, time was slipping away, and every evening Mame Bougon, when she went to wash up dishes in town, was accustomed to close the gate, and, as Marius had given his latch-key to the Inspector, it was important that he should be in time. Night had nearly set in along the whole horizon, and in the whole immensity there was only one point still illumined by the sun, and that was the moon, which was rising red behind the low dome of the Salpêtrière. Marius hurried to No. 50-52, and the gate was still open when he arrived. He went up the stairs on tip-toe, and glided along the passage-wall to his room. This passage, it will be remembered, was bordered on either side by rooms which were now to let, and Mame Bougon, as a general rule, left the doors open. While passing one of these doors, Marius fancied that he could see in the uninhabited room four men's heads vaguely lit up by a remnant of daylight which fell through a window. Marius did not attempt to see, as he did not wish to be seen himself; and he managed to re-enter his room noiselessly and unseen. It was high time, for a moment after he heard Mame Bougon going out, and the house-gate shutting.
CHAPTER XVI
A SONG TO AN ENGLISH AIR POPULAR IN 1832
Marius sat down on his bed: it might be about half-past five, and only half an hour separated him from what was about to happen. He heard his arteries beat as you hear the ticking of a clock in the darkness, and he thought of the double march which was taking place at this moment in the shadows, – crime advancing on one side, and justice coming up on the other. He was not frightened, but he could not think without a certain tremor of the things that were going to happen, like all those who are suddenly assailed by a surprising adventure. This whole day produced on him the effect of a dream, and in order not to believe himself the prey of a nightmare he was obliged to feel in his pockets the cold barrels of the pistols. It no longer snowed; the moon, now very bright, dissipated the mist, and its rays, mingled with the white reflection from the fallen snow, imparted a twilight appearance to the room. There was a light in Jondrette's room, and Marius could see the hole in the partition glowing with a ruddy brilliancy that appeared to him the color of blood. It was evident that this light could not be produced by a candle. There was no movement in the den, no one stirred there, no one spoke, there was not a breath; the silence was chilling and profound, and had it not been for the light, Marius might have fancied himself close to a grave. He gently took off his boots and thrust them under the bed. Several minutes elapsed, and then Marius heard the house-gate creaking on its hinges, a heavy quick step ran up the stairs and along the passage, the hasp of the door was noisily raised; it was Jondrette returned home. All at once several voices were raised, and it was plain that the whole family were at home. They were merely silent in the master's absence, like the whelps in the absence of the wolves.
"It is I," he said.
"Good evening, pappy," the girls yelped.
"Well?" the wife asked.
"All is well," Jondrette answered, "but I am cold as a starved dog. That's right, I am glad to see that you are dressed, for it inspires confidence."
"All ready to go out."
"You will not forget anything that I told you? You will do it all right."
"Of course."
"Because – " Jondrette began, but did not complete the sentence.
Marius heard him lay something heavy on the table, probably the chisel which he had bought.
"Well," Jondrette continued, "have you been eating here?"
"Yes," said the mother; "I bought three large potatoes and some salt. I took advantage of the fire to roast them."
"Good!" Jondrette remarked; "to-morrow you will dine with me: we will have a duck and trimmings, and you will feed like Charles the Tenth."
Then he added, lowering his voice, —
"The mousetrap is open, and the cats are here."
He again lowered his voice and said, —
"Put this in the fire."
Marius heard a clicking of coals stirred with pincers or some iron tool, and Jondrette ask, —
"Have you tallowed the hinges of the door, so that they may make no noise?"
"Yes," the mother answered.
"What o'clock is it?"
"Close on six. It has struck the half-hour at St. Médard."
"Hang it!" said Jondrette, "the girls must go on the watch. Come here and listen to me."
There was a whispering, and then Jondrette's voice was again uplifted.
"Has Mame Bougon gone?"
"Yes," the mother answered.
"Are you sure there is nobody in the neighbor's room?"
"He has not come in all day, and you know that this is his dinner hour."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite."
"No matter," Jondrette added; "there is no harm in going to see whether he is in. Daughter, take the candle and go."
Marius fell on his hands and knees and silently crawled under the bed; he had scarce done so ere he saw light through the cracks of his door.
"Papa," a voice exclaimed, "he is out."
He recognized the elder girl's voice.
"Have you been in his room?" the lather asked.
"No," the girl replied; "but as his key is in his door he has gone out"
The father shouted, —
"Go in, all the same."
The door opened, and Marius saw the girl come in, candle in hand. She was the same as in the morning, save that she was even more fearful in this light. She walked straight up to the bed, and Marius suffered a moment of intense anxiety; but there was a looking-glass hanging from a nail by the bedside, and it was to that she proceeded. She stood on tip-toe and looked at herself; a noise of iron being moved could be heard in the other room. She smoothed her hair with her hand, and smiled in the glass while singing, in her cracked and sepulchral voice, —
"Nos amours out duré toute une semaine,
Mais que du bonheur les instants sont courts,
S'adorer huit jours c'était bien la peine!
Le temps des amours devrait durer toujours!
Devrait durer toujours! devrait durer toujours."
Still Marius trembled, for he thought that she could not help hearing his breathing. She walked to the window and looked out, while saying aloud with the half-crazy look she had, —
"How ugly Paris is when it has put on a white sheet!"
She returned to the glass, and began taking a fresh look at herself, first full face and then three-quarters.
"Well," asked the father, "what are you doing there?"
"I am looking under the bed and the furniture," she said, as she continued to smooth her hair; "but there is nobody."
"You she-devil!" the father yelled. "Come here directly, and lose no time."
"Coming, coming," she said; "there's no time to do anything here."
Then she hummed, —
"Vous me quittez pour aller à la gloire,
Mon triste cœur suivra partout vos pas."
She took a parting glance at the glass and went off, closing the door after her. A moment later Marius heard the sound of the girls' naked feet pattering along the passage, and Jondrette's voice shouting to them, —
"Pay attention! One at the barrière, and the other at the corner of the Rue du Petit Banquier. Do not for a minute lose sight of the door of the house, and if you see anything come back at once – at once; you have a key to let yourselves in."
The elder daughter grumbled, —
"To stand sentry barefooted in the snow, what a treat!"
"To-morrow you shall have beetle-colored silk boots," the father said.
They went down the stain, and a few seconds later the sound of the gate closing below announced that they had reached the street. The only persons in the house now were Marius, the Jondrettes, and probably, too, the mysterious beings of whom Marius had caught a glimpse in the gloom behind the door of the unoccupied room.