Chapter Chapter 214 · SOLUS CUM SOLO, IN LOCO REMOTO, NON COGITABUNTUR ORARE

PATER NOSTER

Marius, dreamer as he was, was, as we have said, firm and energetic by

nature. His habits of solitary meditation, while they had developed in

him sympathy and compassion, had, perhaps, diminished the faculty for

irritation, but had left intact the power of waxing indignant; he had

the kindliness of a brahmin, and the severity of a judge; he took pity

upon a toad, but he crushed a viper. Now, it was into a hole of vipers

that his glance had just been directed, it was a nest of monsters that

he had beneath his eyes.

“These wretches must be stamped upon,” said he.

Not one of the enigmas which he had hoped to see solved had been

elucidated; on the contrary, all of them had been rendered more dense,

if anything; he knew nothing more about the beautiful maiden of the

Luxembourg and the man whom he called M. Leblanc, except that Jondrette

was acquainted with them. Athwart the mysterious words which had been

uttered, the only thing of which he caught a distinct glimpse was the

fact that an ambush was in course of preparation, a dark but terrible

trap; that both of them were incurring great danger, she probably, her

father certainly; that they must be saved; that the hideous plots of

the Jondrettes must be thwarted, and the web of these spiders broken.

He scanned the female Jondrette for a moment. She had pulled an old

sheet-iron stove from a corner, and she was rummaging among the old

heap of iron.

He descended from the commode as softly as possible, taking care not to

make the least noise. Amid his terror as to what was in preparation,

and in the horror with which the Jondrettes had inspired him, he

experienced a sort of joy at the idea that it might be granted to him

perhaps to render a service to the one whom he loved.

But how was it to be done? How warn the persons threatened? He did not

know their address. They had reappeared for an instant before his eyes,

and had then plunged back again into the immense depths of Paris.

Should he wait for M. Leblanc at the door that evening at six o’clock,

at the moment of his arrival, and warn him of the trap? But Jondrette

and his men would see him on the watch, the spot was lonely, they were

stronger than he, they would devise means to seize him or to get him

away, and the man whom Marius was anxious to save would be lost. One

o’clock had just struck, the trap was to be sprung at six. Marius had

five hours before him.

There was but one thing to be done.

He put on his decent coat, knotted a silk handkerchief round his neck,

took his hat, and went out, without making any more noise than if he

had been treading on moss with bare feet.

Moreover, the Jondrette woman continued to rummage among her old iron.

Once outside of the house, he made for the Rue du Petit-Banquier.

He had almost reached the middle of this street, near a very low wall

which a man can easily step over at certain points, and which abuts on

a waste space, and was walking slowly, in consequence of his

preoccupied condition, and the snow deadened the sound of his steps;

all at once he heard voices talking very close by. He turned his head,

the street was deserted, there was not a soul in it, it was broad

daylight, and yet he distinctly heard voices.

It occurred to him to glance over the wall which he was skirting.

There, in fact, sat two men, flat on the snow, with their backs against

the wall, talking together in subdued tones.

These two persons were strangers to him; one was a bearded man in a

blouse, and the other a long-haired individual in rags. The bearded man

had on a fez, the other’s head was bare, and the snow had lodged in his

hair.

By thrusting his head over the wall, Marius could hear their remarks.

The hairy one jogged the other man’s elbow and said:—

“—With the assistance of Patron-Minette, it can’t fail.”

“Do you think so?” said the bearded man.

And the long-haired one began again:—

“It’s as good as a warrant for each one, of five hundred balls, and the

worst that can happen is five years, six years, ten years at the most!”

The other replied with some hesitation, and shivering beneath his fez:—

“That’s a real thing. You can’t go against such things.”

“I tell you that the affair can’t go wrong,” resumed the long-haired

man. “Father What’s-his-name’s team will be already harnessed.”

Then they began to discuss a melodrama that they had seen on the

preceding evening at the Gaîté Theatre.

Marius went his way.

It seemed to him that the mysterious words of these men, so strangely

hidden behind that wall, and crouching in the snow, could not but bear

some relation to Jondrette’s abominable projects. That must be _the

affair_.

He directed his course towards the faubourg Saint-Marceau and asked at

the first shop he came to where he could find a commissary of police.

He was directed to Rue de Pontoise, No. 14.

Thither Marius betook himself.

As he passed a baker’s shop, he bought a two-penny roll, and ate it,

foreseeing that he should not dine.

On the way, he rendered justice to Providence. He reflected that had he

not given his five francs to the Jondrette girl in the morning, he

would have followed M. Leblanc’s fiacre, and consequently have remained

ignorant of everything, and that there would have been no obstacle to

the trap of the Jondrettes and that M. Leblanc would have been lost,

and his daughter with him, no doubt.