Kabanata Kabanata 103 · HE WHO SEEKS TO BETTER HIMSELF MAY RENDER HIS SITUATION WORS

Madame Thénardier had allowed her husband to have his own way, as was

her wont. She had expected great results. When the man and Cosette had

taken their departure, Thénardier allowed a full quarter of an hour to

elapse; then he took her aside and showed her the fifteen hundred

francs.

“Is that all?” said she.

It was the first time since they had set up housekeeping that she had

dared to criticise one of the master’s acts.

The blow told.

“You are right, in sooth,” said he; “I am a fool. Give me my hat.”

He folded up the three bank-bills, thrust them into his pocket, and ran

out in all haste; but he made a mistake and turned to the right first.

Some neighbors, of whom he made inquiries, put him on the track again;

the Lark and the man had been seen going in the direction of Livry. He

followed these hints, walking with great strides, and talking to

himself the while:—

“That man is evidently a million dressed in yellow, and I am an animal.

First he gave twenty sous, then five francs, then fifty francs, then

fifteen hundred francs, all with equal readiness. He would have given

fifteen thousand francs. But I shall overtake him.”

And then, that bundle of clothes prepared beforehand for the child; all

that was singular; many mysteries lay concealed under it. One does not

let mysteries out of one’s hand when one has once grasped them. The

secrets of the wealthy are sponges of gold; one must know how to

subject them to pressure. All these thoughts whirled through his brain.

“I am an animal,” said he.

When one leaves Montfermeil and reaches the turn which the road takes

that runs to Livry, it can be seen stretching out before one to a great

distance across the plateau. On arriving there, he calculated that he

ought to be able to see the old man and the child. He looked as far as

his vision reached, and saw nothing. He made fresh inquiries, but he

had wasted time. Some passers-by informed him that the man and child of

whom he was in search had gone towards the forest in the direction of

Gagny. He hastened in that direction.

They were far in advance of him; but a child walks slowly, and he

walked fast; and then, he was well acquainted with the country.

All at once he paused and dealt himself a blow on his forehead like a

man who has forgotten some essential point and who is ready to retrace

his steps.

“I ought to have taken my gun,” said he to himself.

Thénardier was one of those double natures which sometimes pass through

our midst without our being aware of the fact, and who disappear

without our finding them out, because destiny has only exhibited one

side of them. It is the fate of many men to live thus half submerged.

In a calm and even situation, Thénardier possessed all that is required

to make—we will not say to be—what people have agreed to call an honest

trader, a good bourgeois. At the same time certain circumstances being

given, certain shocks arriving to bring his under-nature to the

surface, he had all the requisites for a blackguard. He was a

shopkeeper in whom there was some taint of the monster. Satan must have

occasionally crouched down in some corner of the hovel in which

Thénardier dwelt, and have fallen a-dreaming in the presence of this

hideous masterpiece.

After a momentary hesitation:—

“Bah!” he thought; “they will have time to make their escape.”

And he pursued his road, walking rapidly straight ahead, and with

almost an air of certainty, with the sagacity of a fox scenting a covey

of partridges.

In truth, when he had passed the ponds and had traversed in an oblique

direction the large clearing which lies on the right of the Avenue de

Bellevue, and reached that turf alley which nearly makes the circuit of

the hill, and covers the arch of the ancient aqueduct of the Abbey of

Chelles, he caught sight, over the top of the brushwood, of the hat on

which he had already erected so many conjectures; it was that man’s

hat. The brushwood was not high. Thénardier recognized the fact that

the man and Cosette were sitting there. The child could not be seen on

account of her small size, but the head of her doll was visible.

Thénardier was not mistaken. The man was sitting there, and letting

Cosette get somewhat rested. The inn-keeper walked round the brushwood

and presented himself abruptly to the eyes of those whom he was in

search of.

“Pardon, excuse me, sir,” he said, quite breathless, “but here are your

fifteen hundred francs.”

So saying, he handed the stranger the three bank-bills.

The man raised his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Thénardier replied respectfully:—

“It means, sir, that I shall take back Cosette.”

Cosette shuddered, and pressed close to the old man.

He replied, gazing to the very bottom of Thénardier’s eyes the while,

and enunciating every syllable distinctly:—

“You are go-ing to take back Co-sette?”

“Yes, sir, I am. I will tell you; I have considered the matter. In

fact, I have not the right to give her to you. I am an honest man, you

see; this child does not belong to me; she belongs to her mother. It

was her mother who confided her to me; I can only resign her to her

mother. You will say to me, ‘But her mother is dead.’ Good; in that

case I can only give the child up to the person who shall bring me a

writing, signed by her mother, to the effect that I am to hand the

child over to the person therein mentioned; that is clear.”

The man, without making any reply, fumbled in his pocket, and

Thénardier beheld the pocket-book of bank-bills make its appearance

once more.

The tavern-keeper shivered with joy.

“Good!” thought he; “let us hold firm; he is going to bribe me!”

Before opening the pocket-book, the traveller cast a glance about him:

the spot was absolutely deserted; there was not a soul either in the

woods or in the valley. The man opened his pocket-book once more and

drew from it, not the handful of bills which Thénardier expected, but a

simple little paper, which he unfolded and presented fully open to the

inn-keeper, saying:—

“You are right; read!”

Thénardier took the paper and read:—

“M. SUR M., March 25, 1823.

“MONSIEUR THÉNARDIER:—

You will deliver Cosette to this person.

You will be paid for all the little things.

I have the honor to salute you with respect,

FANTINE.”

“You know that signature?” resumed the man.

It certainly was Fantine’s signature; Thénardier recognized it.

There was no reply to make; he experienced two violent vexations, the

vexation of renouncing the bribery which he had hoped for, and the

vexation of being beaten; the man added:—

“You may keep this paper as your receipt.”

Thénardier retreated in tolerably good order.

“This signature is fairly well imitated,” he growled between his teeth;

“however, let it go!”

Then he essayed a desperate effort.

“It is well, sir,” he said, “since you are the person, but I must be

paid for all those little things. A great deal is owing to me.”

The man rose to his feet, filliping the dust from his threadbare

sleeve:—

“Monsieur Thénardier, in January last, the mother reckoned that she

owed you one hundred and twenty francs. In February, you sent her a

bill of five hundred francs; you received three hundred francs at the

end of February, and three hundred francs at the beginning of March.

Since then nine months have elapsed, at fifteen francs a month, the

price agreed upon, which makes one hundred and thirty-five francs. You

had received one hundred francs too much; that makes thirty-five still

owing you. I have just given you fifteen hundred francs.”

Thénardier’s sensations were those of the wolf at the moment when he

feels himself nipped and seized by the steel jaw of the trap.

“Who is this devil of a man?” he thought.

He did what the wolf does: he shook himself. Audacity had succeeded

with him once.

“Monsieur-I-don’t-know-your-name,” he said resolutely, and this time

casting aside all respectful ceremony, “I shall take back Cosette if

you do not give me a thousand crowns.”

The stranger said tranquilly:—

“Come, Cosette.”

He took Cosette by his left hand, and with his right he picked up his

cudgel, which was lying on the ground.

Thénardier noted the enormous size of the cudgel and the solitude of

the spot.

The man plunged into the forest with the child, leaving the inn-keeper

motionless and speechless.

While they were walking away, Thénardier scrutinized his huge

shoulders, which were a little rounded, and his great fists.

Then, bringing his eyes back to his own person, they fell upon his

feeble arms and his thin hands. “I really must have been exceedingly

stupid not to have thought to bring my gun,” he said to himself, “since

I was going hunting!”

However, the inn-keeper did not give up.

“I want to know where he is going,” said he, and he set out to follow

them at a distance. Two things were left on his hands, an irony in the

shape of the paper signed _Fantine_, and a consolation, the fifteen

hundred francs.

The man led Cosette off in the direction of Livry and Bondy. He walked

slowly, with drooping head, in an attitude of reflection and sadness.

The winter had thinned out the forest, so that Thénardier did not lose

them from sight, although he kept at a good distance. The man turned

round from time to time, and looked to see if he was being followed.

All at once he caught sight of Thénardier. He plunged suddenly into the

brushwood with Cosette, where they could both hide themselves. “The

deuce!” said Thénardier, and he redoubled his pace.

The thickness of the undergrowth forced him to draw nearer to them.

When the man had reached the densest part of the thicket, he wheeled

round. It was in vain that Thénardier sought to conceal himself in the

branches; he could not prevent the man seeing him. The man cast upon

him an uneasy glance, then elevated his head and continued his course.

The inn-keeper set out again in pursuit. Thus they continued for two or

three hundred paces. All at once the man turned round once more; he saw

the inn-keeper. This time he gazed at him with so sombre an air that

Thénardier decided that it was “useless” to proceed further. Thénardier

retraced his steps.