Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [289]
With great and lofty natures the revolt of the flesh and the senses against the assaults of physical pain, brings out the soul, and makes it appear on the countenance, in the same way as mutinies of the soldiery force the captain to show himself.
“Wretches,” said he, “have no more fear for me than I have of you.”
And drawing the chisel out of the wound, he threw it through the window, which was still open; the horrible glowing tool disappeared, whirling into the night, and fell in the distance, and was quenched in the snow.
The prisoner resumed:
“Do with me what you will.”
He was disarmed.
“Lay hold of him,” said Thénardier.
Two of the brigands laid their hands upon his shoulders, and the masked man with the ventriloquist’s voice placed himself in front of him, ready to knock out his brains with a blow of the key, at the least motion.
At the same time Marius heard beneath him, at the foot of the partition, but so near that he could not see those who were talking, this colloquy, exchanged in a low voice:
“There is only one thing more to do.”
“Do him in!”
“That is it.”
It was the husband and wife who were holding counsel.
Thénardier walked with slow steps towards the table, opened the drawer, and took out the knife.
Marius was tormenting the trigger of his pistol. Unparalleled perplexity! For an hour there had been two voices in his conscience, one telling him to respect the will of his father, the other crying to him to succour the prisoner. These two voices, without interruption, continued their struggle, which threw him into agony. He had vaguely hoped up to that moment to find some means of reconciling these two duties but no possible way had arisen. The peril was now urgent, the last limit of hope was passed; at a few steps from the prisoner, Thénardier was reflecting, with the knife in his hand.
Marius cast his eyes wildly about him; the last mechanical resource of despair.
Suddenly he started.
At his feet, on the table, a clear ray of the full moon illuminated and seemed to point out to him a sheet of paper. Upon that sheet he read this line, written in large letters that very morning, by the elder of the Thénardier girls:
“THE COPS ARE HERE.”
An idea, a flash crossed Marius’ mind; that was the means which he sought; the solution of this dreadful problem which was torturing him, to spare the assassin and to save the victim. He knelt down upon his bureau, reached out his arm, caught up the sheet of paper, quietly detached a bit of plaster from the partition, wrapped it in the paper, and threw the whole through the crevice into the middle of the den.
It was time. Thénardier had conquered his last fears, or his last scruples, and was moving towards the prisoner.
“Something fell!” cried the Thénardiess.
“What is it?” said the husband.
The woman had sprung forward, and picked up the piece of plaster wrapped in the paper. She handed it to her husband.
“How did this come in?” asked Thénardier.
“Egad!” said the woman, “how do you suppose it got in? It came through the window.”
“I saw it pass,” said Bigrenaille.
Thénardier hurriedly unfolded the paper, and held it up to the candle.
“It is Eponine’s writing. The devil!”
He made a sign to his wife, who approached quickly, and he showed her the line written on the sheet of paper; then he added in a hollow voice:
“Quick! the ladder! leave the meat in the trap, and clear the camp!”
“Without cutting the man’s throat?” asked the Thénardiess.
“We have not the time.”
“Which way?” inquired Bigrenaille.
“Through the window,” answered Thénardier. “As Ponine threw the stone through the window, that shows that the house is not watched on that side.”
The mask with the ventriloquist’s voice laid down his big key, lifted both arms into the air, and opened and shut his hands rapidly three times, without saying a word. This was like the signal to clear the decks in a fleet. The brigands, who were holding the prisoner, let