Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [165]
On leaving Montfermeil and reaching the turn made by the road to Livry, the road may be seen for a long distance on the plateau. On reaching this point he counted on being able to see the man and the little girl. He looked as far as his eye could reach, but saw nothing. He inquired again. In the meanwhile he was losing time. The passers-by told him that the man and child whom he sought had travelled towards the wood in the direction of Gagny. He hastened in this direction.
They had the start of him, but a child walks slowly, and he went rapidly. And then the country was well known to him.
Suddenly he stopped and struck his forehead like a man who has forgotten the main thing, and who thinks of retracing his steps.
“I ought to have taken my gun!” said he.
Thénardier was one of those double natures who sometimes appear among us without our knowledge, and disappear without ever being known, because destiny has shown us but one side of them. It is the fate of many men to live thus half submerged. In a quiet ordinary situation, Thénardier had all that is necessary to make—we do not say to be—what passes for an honest tradesman, a good citizen. At the same time, under certain circumstances, under the operation of certain occurrences exciting his baser nature, he had in him all that was necessary to be a villain. He was a shopkeeper in which lay hidden a monster. At times, Satan must have squatted in some corner of the hole in which Thénardier lived and daydreamed at the spectacle of this hideous masterpiece.
After hesitating an instant:
“Bah!” thought he, “they would have time to escape!”
And he continued on his way, going rapidly forward, and almost as if he were certain, with the sagacity of the fox scenting a flock of partridges.
In fact, when he had passed the ponds, and crossed obliquely the large meadow at the right of the avenue de Bellevue, as he reached the grassy path which nearly encircles the hill, and which covers the arch of the old aqueduct of the abbey of Chelles, he perceived above a bush, the hat on which he had already built so many conjectures. It was the man’s hat. The bushes were low. Thénardier perceived that the man and Cosette were seated there. The child could not be seen, she was so short, but he could see the head of the doll.
Thénardier was not mistaken. The man had sat down there to give Cosette a little rest. The tavern-keeper turned aside the bushes, and suddenly appeared before the eyes of those whom he sought.
“Pardon me, excuse me, monsieur,” said he, all out of breath; “but here are your fifteen hundred francs.”
So saying, he held out the three bank bills to the stranger.
The man raised his eyes:
“What does that mean?”
Thénardier answered respectfully: “Monsieur, that means that I’m taking back Cosette.”
Cosette shuddered, and hugged close to the goodman.
He answered, looking Thénardier straight in the eye, and spacing his syllables.
“You‘re—taking—back—Cosette?”
“Yes, monsieur, I’m taking her back. I tell you I have thought it over. Indeed, I haven’t the right to give her to you. I am an honest man, you see. This little girl is not mine. She belongs to her mother. Her mother has confided her to me; I can only give her up to her mother. You will tell me: But her mother is dead. Well. In that case, I can only give up the child to a person who shall bring me a written order, signed by the mother, stating I should deliver the child to him. That is clear.”
The man, without answering, felt in his pocket, and Thénardier saw the pocket-book containing the bank bills reappear.
The tavern-keeper felt a thrill of joy.
“Good!” thought he; “hold on. He is going to bribe me!”
Before opening the pocket-book, the traveller cast a look about him. The place was entirely deserted. There was not a soul either in the