Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [44]
The sweat, the heat, his long walk, and the dust, added an indescribable squalor to his tattered appearance.
His hair was shorn, but bristly, for it had begun to grow a little and seemingly had not been cut for some time. Nobody knew him, he was evidently a traveller. Whence had he come? From the south—perhaps from the sea; for he was making his entrance into D—by the same road by which, seven months before, the Emperor Napoleon went from Cannes to Paris.n This man must have walked all day long; for he appeared very weary. Some women of the old city which is at the lower part of the town, had seen him stop under the trees of the boulevard Gassendi, and drink at the fountain which is at the end of the promenade. He must have been very thirsty, for some children who followed him, saw him stop not two hundred steps further on and drink again at the fountain in the market-place.
When he reached the corner of the Rue Poichevert he turned to the left and went towards the mayor’s office. He went in, and a quarter of an hour afterwards he came out.
The man raised his cap humbly and saluted a gendarme who was seated near the door, upon the stone bench which General Drouot mounted on the fourth of March, to read to the terrified inhabitants of D—the proclamation of the Golfe Juan.5
Without returning his salutation, the gendarme looked at him attentively, watched him for some distance, and then went into the city hall.
There was then in D—, a good inn called La Croix de Colbas. The traveller turned his steps towards this inn, which was the best in the place, and went at once into the kitchen, which opened out of the street. All the ranges were fuming, and a great fire was burning briskly in the chimney-place. Mine host, who was at the same time head cook, was going from the fire place to the saucepans, very busy superintending an excellent dinner for some wagoners who were laughing and talking noisily in the next room. Whoever has travelled knows that nobody lives better than wagoners. A fat marmot, flanked by white partridges and gamecocks, was turning on a long spit before the fire; upon the ranges were cooking two large carps from Lake Lauzet, and a trout from Lake Alloz.
The host, hearing the door open, and a new-comer enter, said, without raising his eyes from his ovens—
“What will monsieur have?”
“Something to eat and lodging.”
“Nothing more easy,” said mine host, but on turning his head and taking an observation of the traveller, he added, “for pay.”
The man drew from his pocket a large leather purse, and answered,
“I have money.”
“Then,” said mine host, “I am at your service.”
The man put his purse back into his pocket, took off his knapsack and put it down hard by the door, and holding his stick in his hand, sat down on a low stool by the fire. D—being in the mountains, the evenings of October are cold there.
However, as the host passed backwards and forwards, he kept a careful eye on the traveller.
“Is dinner almost ready?” said the man.
“Directly,” said mine host.
While the new-comer was warming himself with his back turned, the worthy innkeeper, Jacquin Labarre, took a pencil from his pocket, and then tore off the corner of an old paper which he pulled from a little table near the window. On the margin he wrote a line or two, folded it, and handed the scrap of paper to a child, who appeared to serve him as lackey and scullion at the same time. The innkeeper whispered a word to the boy and he ran off in the direction of the mayor’s office.
The traveller saw nothing of this.
He asked a second time: “Is dinner ready?”
“Yes; in a few moments,” said the host.
The boy came back with the paper. The host unfolded it hurriedly, as one who is expecting an answer. He seemed to read with attention, then throwing his head on one side, thought for a moment. Then he took a step towards the traveller, who seemed drowned in disturbing thoughts.
“Monsieur,” said he, “I cannot receive you.”
The traveller half rose from his seat.
“Why? Are you afraid I shall not pay you, or do you want me to pay