Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [272]
15 (16)
IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND THE SONG SET TO AN ENGLISH AIR IN FASHION IN 1832
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