by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER VII.
CONTINUATION OF THE ENIGMA.
The night breeze had risen, which proved that it must be between oneand two in the morning. Cosette said nothing, and as she was leaningher head against him, Jean Valjean fancied that she was asleep. He bentdown and looked at her: her eyes were wide open, and she had a pensivelook which hurt Jean Valjean. She was still trembling.
"Do you feel inclined to sleep?" he asked her.
"I am very cold," she answered; a moment after she continued,--
"Is she still there?"
"Who?" Jean Valjean asked.
"Madame Thénardier."
Jean had forgotten the way he had employed to keep Cosette silent.
"Ah," he said, "she is gone, and you have nothing to fear."
The child sighed, as if a weight had been taken off her chest.
The ground was damp, the shed open on all sides, and the wind grew morecutting every moment. He took off his coat and wrapped Cosette up in it.
"Are you less cold now?" he said.
"Oh yes, father."
"Well, wait for me a minute."
He left the ruin and began walking along the large building in searchof some better shelter. He came to doors, but they were closed, andthere were bars on all the ground-floor windows. After passing theinner angle of the edifice he noticed that he had come to some archedwindows, and perceived a faint light. He raised himself on tip-toe andlooked through one of the windows; they all belonged to a large hallpaved with stones, in which nothing could be distinguished but a littlelight and great shadows. The light came from a night-lamp burning inthe corner. This hall was deserted and nothing was stirring in it; andyet, after a long look, he fancied that he could see on the groundsomething that seemed to be covered with a pall and resembled a humanform. It was stretched out flat, with its face against the stones, itsarms forming a cross, and motionless as death. From a species of snakewhich dragged along the pavement, it looked as if this sinister formhad the rope round its neck. The whole hall was bathed in that mist ofbadly-lighted places which intensifies the horror.
Jean Valjean often said afterwards that, although he had witnessedmany mournful sights in his life, he had never seen one more chillingor terrifying than this enigmatical figure performing some strangemystery at this gloomy spot, and thus caught sight of through thedarkness. It was frightful to suppose that it might be dead, and morefrightful still to think that it might possibly be still alive. Hehad the courage to place his face to the pane, and watch whether thefigure would stir; but though he remained for a time which appeared tohim very long, the outstretched form made no movement. All at once hefelt himself assailed by an indescribable horror, and he ran off towardthe shed without daring to look back; he fancied that if he turned hishead he should see the figure walking after him and waving its arms.When he reached the ruin he was panting, his knees gave way, and theperspiration was running down his back. Where was he? Who could haveimagined anything like this species of sepulchre in the heart of Paris?What was the strange house? An edifice full of nocturnal mystery,calling souls in the darkness, the voice of angels, and when theyarrive, suddenly offering them this frightful vision; promising to openthe bright gate of heaven, and, instead, opening the horrible gate ofthe tomb! And it was really a mansion, a house which had its number ina street. It was not a dream; but he was obliged to touch the stones inorder to believe it. Cold, anxiety, apprehension, and the emotion ofthe night brought on him a real fever, and all his ideas were confusedin his brain. He approached Cosette. She slept.
