by Victor Hugo
"Don't you interfere," Thénardier said to her; "you will tear yourshawl."
The woman obeyed, as the she-wolf obeys the wolf, with a snarl.
"You fellows," Thénardier continued, "can search him."
M. Leblanc appeared to have given up all thought of resistance, andthey searched him. He had nothing about him but a leathern pursecontaining six francs and his handkerchief. Thénardier put the latterin his own pocket.
"What! no pocket-book?" he asked.
"No, and no watch," one of the "chimney-menders" replied.
"No matter," the masked man who held the large key muttered in thevoice of a ventriloquist, "he is a tough old bird."
Thénardier went to the corner near the door, and took up some ropes,which he threw to them.
"Fasten him to the foot of the bed," he said; and noticing the old manwhom M. Leblanc had knocked down still motionless on the floor, heasked,--
"Is Boulatruelle dead?"
"No," Bigrenaille answered, "he's drunk."
"Sweep him into a corner," Thénardier said.
Two of the "chimney-menders" thrust the drunkard with their feet to theside of the old iron.
"Babet, why did you bring so many?" Thénardier said in a whisper to theman with the cudgel; "it was unnecessary."
"They all wanted to be in it," the man answered, "for the season isbad, and there's nothing doing."
The bed upon which M. Leblanc had been thrown was a sort of hospitalbed, on four clumsy wooden legs. M. Leblanc made no resistance. Thebandits tied him firmly in an upright posture to the end of the bed,farthest from the window and nearest the chimney-piece. When the lastknot was tied, Thénardier took a chair and sat down almost facingthe prisoner. He was no longer the same man; in a few minutes hiscountenance had passed from frenzied violence to tranquil and cunninggentleness. Marius had a difficulty in recognizing in this polite smileof an official the almost bestial mouth which had been foaming a momentpreviously; he regarded this fantastic and alarming metamorphosis withstupor, and he felt as a man would feel who saw a tiger changed into anattorney.
"Sir," said Thénardier, and made a sign to the bandits who still heldM. Leblanc to fall back;--"leave me to talk with the gentleman," hesaid. All withdrew to the door, and he resumed,--
"You did wrong to try and jump out of the window, for you mighthave broken a leg. Now, with your permission, we will talk quietly;and, in the first place, I will communicate to you a thing I havenoticed,--that you have not yet uttered the slightest cry."
Thénardier was right; the fact was so, although it had escaped Mariusin his trouble. M. Leblanc had merely said a few words without raisinghis voice, and even in his struggle near the window with the sixbandits he had preserved the profoundest and most singular silence.Thénardier went on,--
"Good heavens! you might have cried 'Thieves!' a little while, andI should not have thought it improper. Such a thing as 'Murder!' isshouted on such occasions; I should not have taken it in ill part. Itis very simple that a man should make a bit of a row when he findshimself with persons who do not inspire him with sufficient confidence.If you had done so we should not have interfered with you or thoughtof gagging you, and I will tell you the reason why. This room is verydeaf; it has only that in its favor, but it has that. It is a cellar;you might explode a bombshell here and it would not produce the effectof a drunkard's snore at the nearest post Here cannon would go _Boum!_and thunder _Pouf!_ It is a convenient lodging. But still, you did notcry out; all the better, and I compliment you on it, and will tell youwhat conclusion I draw from the fact. My dear sir, when a man criesfor help, who come? The police; and after the police? Justice. Well,you did not cry out, and so you are no more desirous than we are forthe arrival of the police. The fact is--and I have suspected it forsome time--that you have some interest in hiding something; for ourpart, we have the same interest, and so we may be able to come to anunderstanding."
While saying this, Thénardier was trying to drive the sharp pointsthat issued from his eyes into his prisoner's conscience. Besides,his language, marked with a sort of moderate and cunning insolence,was reserved and almost chosen, and in this villain who was justbefore only a bandit could now be seen "the man who had studied forthe priesthood." The silence which the prisoner had maintained, thisprecaution which went so far as the very forgetfulness of care forhis life, this resistance so opposed to the first movement of nature,which is to utter a cry, troubled and painfully amazed Marius, so soonas his attention was drawn to it. Thénardier's well-founded remark butrendered denser the mysterious gloom behind which was concealed thegrave and peculiar face to which Courfeyrac had thrown the sobriquetof M. Leblanc. But whoever this man might be, though bound with cords,surrounded by bandits, and half buried, so to speak, in a grave wherethe earth fell upon him at every step,--whether in the presence ofThénardier furious or of Thénardier gentle,--he remained impassive,and Marius could not refrain from admiring this face so superblymelancholy at such a moment. His was evidently a soul inaccessible toterror, and ignorant of what it is to be alarmed. He was one of thosemen who master the amazement produced by desperate situations. Howeverextreme the crisis might be, however inevitable the catastrophe, he hadnone of the agony of the drowning man, who opens horrible eyes underwater. Thénardier rose without any affectation, removed the screenfrom before the fire-place, and thus unmasked the heating-pan full ofburning charcoal, in which the prisoner could perfectly see the chiselat a white heat, and studded here and there with small red stars. Thenhe came back and sat down near M. Leblanc.
"I will continue," he said; "we can come to an understanding, so letus settle this amicably. I did wrong to let my temper carry me awayjust now; I do not know where my senses were; I went much too far anduttered absurdities. For instance, because you are a millionnaire, Itold you that I insisted on money, a great deal of money, an immensesum of money, and that was not reasonable. Good heavens! you may berich, but you have burdens, for who is there that has not? I do notwish to ruin you, for, after all, I am not an insatiable fellow. I amnot one of those men who, because they have advantage of position,employ it to be ridiculous. Come, I will make a sacrifice on my side,and be satisfied with two hundred thousand francs."
M. Leblanc did not utter a syllable, and so Thénardier continued,--
"You see that I put plenty of water in my wine. I do not know theamount of your fortune, but I am aware that you do not care for money,and a benevolent man like you can easily give two hundred thousandfrancs to an unfortunate parent. Of course, you are reasonable too; youcannot have supposed that I would take all that trouble this morning,and organize this affair to-night,--which is a well-done job, in theopinion of these gentlemen,--merely to ask you for enough money togo and drink fifteen sous wine and eat veal at Desnoyer's. But twohundred thousand francs, that's worth the trouble; once that triflehas come out of your pocket I will guarantee that you have nothingmore to apprehend. You will say, 'But I have not two hundred thousandfrancs about me.' Oh, I am not unreasonable, and I do not insist onthat. I only ask one thing of you: be good enough to write what I shalldictate."
Here Thénardier stopped, but added, laying a stress on the words andcasting a smile at the heating-dish,--
"I warn you that I shall not accept the excuse that you cannot write."
A Grand Inquisitor might have envied that smile. Thénardier pushed thetable close up to M. Leblanc, and took pen, ink, and paper out of thedrawer, which he left half open, and in which the long knife-bladeflashed. He laid the sheet of paper before M. Leblanc.
"Write!" he said.
The prisoner at last spoke.
"How can you expect me to write? My arms are tied."
"That is true; I beg your pardon," said Thénardier, "you are quiteright;" and turning to Bigrenaille, he added, "Unfasten the gentleman'sright arm."
Panchaud _alias_ Printanier _alias_ Bigrenaille obeyed Thénardier'sorders, and when the prisoner's hand was free, Thénardier dipped thepen in the ink and handed it to h
im.
"Make up your mind, sir, that you are in our absolute power; no humaninterference can liberate you, and we should really be sorry to beforced to proceed to disagreeable extremities. I know neither your namenor your address, but I warn you that you will remain tied up hereuntil the person commissioned to deliver the letter you are going towrite has returned. Now be good enough to write."
"What?" the prisoner asked.
Thénardier began dictating: "My daughter."
The prisoner started, and raised his eyes to Thénardier,--
"Make it, 'My dear daughter,'" said Thénardier.
M. Leblanc obeyed.
Thénardier continued,--
"Come to me at once, for I want you particularly. The person whodelivers this letter to you has instructions to bring you to me. I amwaiting. Come in perfect confidence."
M. Leblanc wrote this down.
Thénardier resumed,--"By the way, efface that 'Come in perfectconfidence,' for it might lead to a supposition that the affair is notperfectly simple, and create distrust."
M. Leblanc erased the words.
"Now," Thénardier added, "sign it. What is your name?"
The prisoner laid down the pen, and asked,--
"For whom is this letter?"
"You know very well," Thénardier answered; "for the little one; I justtold you so."
It was evident that Thénardier avoided mentioning the name of the girlin question: he called her "the Lark," he called her "the little one,"but he did not pronounce her name. It was the precaution of a cleverman who keeps his secret from his accomplices, and mentioning the namewould have told them the whole affair, and taught them more than therewas any occasion for them to know. So he repeated,--
"Sign it. What is your name?"
"Urbain Fabre," said the prisoner.
Thénardier, with the movement of a cat, thrust his hand into his pocketand drew out the handkerchief found on M. Leblanc. He sought for themark, and held it to the candle.
"'U. F.,' all right, Urbain Fabre. Well, sign it 'U. F.'"
The prisoner did so.
"As two hands are needed to fold a letter, give it to me and I will doit."
This done, Thénardier added,--
"Write the address, 'Mademoiselle Fabre,' at your house. I know thatyou live somewhere near here in the neighborhood of St. Jacques duHaut-pas, as you attend Mass there every day, but I do not know inwhat street. I see that you understand your situation, and as you havenot told a falsehood about your name, you will not do so about youraddress. Write it yourself."
The prisoner remained pensive for a moment, and then took up the penand wrote,--
"Mademoiselle Fabre, at M. Urbain Fabre's, No. 17, Rue St. Dominiqued'Enfer."
Thénardier seized the letter with a sort of feverish convulsion.
"Wife!" he shouted, and the woman came up. "Here is the letter, andyou know what you have to do. There is a hackney coach down below,so be off at once, and return ditto." Then he turned to the man withthe pole-axe, and said, "As you have taken off your muffler, you canaccompany her. Get up behind the coach. You know where you left it?"
"Yes," said the man; and depositing the axe in a corner, he followedthe woman. As they were going away Thénardier thrust his head out ofthe door and shouted down the passage,--
"Mind and do not lose the letter! Remember you have two hundredthousand francs about you."
The woman's hoarse voice replied,--
"Don't be frightened, I have put it in my stomach."
A minute had not elapsed when the crack of a whip could be heardrapidly retiring.
"All right," Thénardier growled, "they are going at a good pace; with agallop like that she will be back in three quarters of an hour."
He drew up a chair to the fire-side, and sat down with folded arms, andholding his muddy boots to the heating-pan.
"My feet are cold," he said.
Only five bandits remained in the den with Thénardier and the prisoner.These men, through the masks or soot that covered their faces andrendered them, with a choice of horror, charcoal-burners, negroes, ordemons, had a heavy, dull look, and it was plain that they performeda crime like a job, tranquilly, without passion or pity, and with asort of _ennui_. They were heaped up in a corner like brutes, and weresilent. Thénardier was warming his feet. The prisoner had fallen backinto his taciturnity; a sinister calmness had succeeded the formidablenoise which had filled the garret a few moments previously. The candle,on which a large mushroom had formed, scarce lit up the immense room;the heating-dish had grown black, and all these monstrous heads castmisshapen shadows upon the walls and the ceiling. No other sound wasaudible save the regular breathing of the old drunkard, who was asleep.Marius was waiting in a state of anxiety which everything tended toaugment. The enigma was more impenetrable than ever; who was this"little one," whom Thénardier had also called "the Lark,"--was she"his Ursule"? The prisoner had not seemed affected by this name ofthe Lark, and had answered with the most natural air in the world,"I do not know what you mean." On the other hand, the two letters"U. F." were explained; they were Urbain Fabre, and Ursule's name wasno longer Ursule. This is what Marius saw most clearly. A sort offrightful fascination kept him nailed to the spot, whence he surveyedand commanded the whole scene. He stood there almost incapable ofreflection and movement, as if annihilated by the frightful thingswhich he saw close to him; and he waited, hoping for some incident, nomatter its nature, unable to collect his thoughts, and not knowing whatto do.
"In any case," he said, "if she is the Lark, I shall see her, forMother Thénardier will bring her here. In that case I will give my lifeand blood, should it be necessary, to save her, and nothing shall stopme."
Nearly half an hour passed in this way; Thénardier seemed absorbed indark thoughts, and the prisoner did not stir. Still Marius fancied thathe could hear at intervals a low, dull sound in the direction of theprisoner. All at once Thénardier addressed his victim.
"By the way, M. Fabre," he said, "I may as well tell you something atonce."
As these few words seemed the commencement of an explanation, Mariuslistened carefully. Thénardier continued,--
"My wife will be back soon, so do not be impatient. I believe that theLark is really your daughter, and think it very simple that you shouldkeep her; but listen to me for a moment. My wife will go to her withyour letter, and I told Madame Thénardier to dress herself in the wayyou saw, that your young lady might make no difficulty about followingher. They will both get into the hackney coach with my comrade behind;near a certain barrier there is a trap drawn by two excellent horses;your young lady will be driven up to it in the hackney coach, andget into the trap with my pal, while my wife returns here to reportprogress. As for your young lady, no harm will be done her; she willbe taken to a place where she will be all safe, and so soon as youhave handed me the trifle of two hundred thousand francs she will berestored to you. If you have me arrested, my pal will settle the Lark,that's all."
The prisoner did not utter a word, and after a pause Thénardiercontinued,--
"It is simple enough, as you see, and there will be no harm, unless youlike to make harm. I have told you all about it, and warned you, thatyou might know."
He stopped, but the prisoner did not interrupt the silence, andThénardier added,--
"So soon as my wife has returned and said to me, 'The Lark is underway,' we will release you, and you can sleep at home if you like. Yousee that we have no ill intentions."
Frightful images passed across the mind of Marius. What! they were notgoing to bring the girl here! One of the monsters was going to carryher off in the darkness!--where? Oh, if it were she! and it was plainthat it was she. Marius felt the beating of his heart stop; what shouldhe do? Fire the pistol and deliver all these villains into the hands ofjustice? But the hideous man with the pole-axe could not be the lessout of reach with the girl, and Marius thought of Thénardier's words,whose sanguinary meaning he could read,--"If you have me arrested, mypal wi
ll settle the Lark;" now he felt himself checked, not only by theColonel's will, but by his love and the peril of her whom he loved. Thefrightful situation, which had already lasted above an hour, changedits aspect at every moment, and Marius had the strength to review inturn all the most frightful conjectures, while seeking a hope andfinding none. The tumult of his thoughts contrasted with the lugubrioussilence of the den. In the midst of this silence the sound of thestaircase door being opened and shut became audible. The prisoner gavea start in his bonds.
"Here's my wife," said Thénardier.
He had scarce finished speaking when Mother Thénardier rushed into theroom, red, out of breath, and with flashing eyes, and shouted as shestruck her thighs with her two big hands,--
"A false address!"
The brigand who had accompanied her appeared behind, and took up hispole-axe again.
"A false address?" Thénardier repeated, and she went on,--
"No Monsieur Urbain Fabre known at No. 17, Rue St. Dominique. Theynever heard of him."
She stopped to snort, and then continued,--
"Monsieur Thénardier, that old cove has made a fool of you; for you aretoo good-hearted, I keep on telling you. I would have cut his throatto begin with! and if he had sulked I would have boiled him alive!that would have made him speak and tell us where his daughter is, andwhere he keeps his money. That is how I should have managed the affair.People are right when they say that men are more stupid than women.Nobody at No. 17, it is a large gateway. No Monsieur Fabre at No. 17,and we went at a gallop, with a fee for the driver and all! I spoke tothe porter and his wife, who is a fine, tall woman, and they did notknow anybody of the name."
