The heat of the coal-fire was so great that the candle on the tablewas melted and guttering on the side turned toward it. An old copperdark-lantern, worthy of a Diogenes who had turned Cartouche, wasstanding on the mantel-piece. The heating-dish, which stood in thefire-place close to the decaying logs, sent its smoke up the chimney,and thus produced no smell. The moon, which found its way through theskylight, poured its whiteness on the purple and flashing garret, andto the poetic mind of Marius, who was a dreamer even in the moment ofaction, it was like a thought of heaven mingled with the shapelessdreams of earth. A breath of air, that penetrated through the brokenpane, also helped to dissipate the smell of charcoal and conceal theheating-dish. Jondrette's den, if our readers remember what we havesaid about the house, was admirably selected to serve as the sceneof a violent and dark deed, and as a covert for crime. It was thefarthest room in the most isolated house on the most deserted Parisianboulevard; and if ambushes did not exist they would have been inventedthere. The whole length of a house and a number of uninhabited roomsseparated this lair from the boulevard, and the only window in itlooked out on fields enclosed by walls and fences. Jondrette had lithis pipe, was seated on the bottomless chair and smoking, and his wifewas speaking to him in a low voice.
If Marius had been Courfeyrac, that is to say, one of those men wholaugh at every opportunity, he would have burst into a roar when hiseye fell on Mother Jondrette. She had on a bonnet with black feathers,like the hats worn by the heralds at the coronation of Charles X., animmense tartan shawl over her cotton skirt, and the man's shoes whichher daughter had disdained in the morning. It was this attire whichdrew from Jondrette the exclamation, "That's right; I am glad to seethat you are dressed, for it inspires confidence." As for Jondrette, hehad not taken off the new coat which M. Leblanc had given him, and hisdress continued to offer that contrast between trousers and coat whichconstituted in Courfeyrac's sight the ideal of the poet. All at onceJondrette raised his voice:--
"By the way, in such weather as this he will come in a hackney coach.Light your lamp and go down, and keep behind the front gate; whenyou hear the vehicle stop you will open the gate at once, light himupstairs and along the passage, and when he has come in here you willgo down as quickly as you can, pay the coachman, and discharge him."
"Where is the money to come from?" the woman asked.
Jondrette felt in his pocket, and gave her five francs.
"What is this?" she exclaimed.
"The monarch which our neighbor gave us this morning," respondedJondrette with dignity, and added, "we shall want two chairs, though."
"What for?"
"Why, to sit down!"
Marius shuddered on hearing the woman make the quiet answer,--
"Well, I will go and fetch our neighbor's."
And with a rapid movement she opened the door and stepped into thepassage. Marius had not really the time to get off the drawers and hideunder his bed.
"Take the candle!" Jondrette shouted.
"No," she said, "it would bother me, for I have two chairs to carry.Besides, the moon is shining."
Marius heard the heavy hand of Mother Jondrette fumbling for hiskey in the darkness. The door opened, and he remained nailed to hispost by alarm and stupor. The woman came in; the sky-light sent amoonbeam between two large patches of shade, and one of these patchesentirely covered the wall against which Marius was standing, so thathe disappeared. Mother Jondrette did not see Marius, took the twochairs,--the only two that Marius possessed,--and went off, noisilyslamming the door after her. She re-entered the den.
"Here are the two chairs."
"And here is the lantern," the husband said; "make haste down."
She hastily obeyed, and Jondrette remained alone.
He placed the chairs on either side of the table, turned the chiselin the heating-dish, placed in front of the fire-place an old screen,which concealed the charcoal-pan, and then went to the corner wherethe heap of rope lay, and stooped down as if examining something.Marius then perceived that what he had taken for a shapeless heap was arope-ladder, very well made with wooden rungs, and two hooks to hangit by. This ladder and a few large tools, perfect crowbars, which weremingled with the heap of old iron in the corner, had not been there inthe morning, and had evidently been brought in the afternoon, duringthe absence of Marius.
"They are edge-tool makers' implements", Marius thought.
Had he been a little better acquainted with the trade he wouldhave recognized, in what he took for tool-makers' gear, certaininstruments that could force or pick a lock, and others that could cutor pierce,--the two families of sinister tools which burglars call"cadets" and "fauchants." The fire-place, the table, and the two chairswere exactly opposite Marius, and as the charcoal-pan was concealed,the room was only illumined by the candle, and the smallest article onthe table or the chimney-piece cast a long shadow; a cracked water-jughid half a wall. There was in this room a hideous and menacing calm,and an expectation of something awful could be felt. Jondrette had lethis pipe go out,--a sign of deep thought,--and had just sat down again.The candle caused the stern and fierce angles of his face to stand out;he was frowning, and suddenly thrust out his right hand now and then,as if answering the final counsels of a dark internal soliloquy. In oneof the obscure replies he made to himself he opened the table-drawer,took out a long carving-knife hidden in it, and felt its edge on histhumb-nail. This done, he put the knife in the drawer, which he closedagain. Marius, on his side, drew the pistol from his pocket and cockedit, which produced a sharp, clicking sound. Jondrette started, and halfrose from his chair.
"Who's that?" he shouted.
Marius held his breath. Jondrette listened for a moment, and then saidlaughingly,--
"What an ass I am! It is the partition creaking."
Marius kept the pistol in his hand.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TWO CHAIRS FACE TO FACE.
At this moment the distant and melancholy vibration of a bell shookthe windows; six o'clock was striking at St. Médard. Jondrette markedeach stroke by a shake of the head, and when he had counted the last hesnuffed the candle with his fingers. Then he began walking up and downthe room, listened at the door, began walking again, and then listenedonce more. "If he comes!" he growled, and then returned to his chair.He was hardly seated ere the door opened. Mother Jondrette had openedit, and remained in the passage making a horrible grimace, which one ofthe holes in the dark lantern lit up from below.
"Step in, sir," she said.
"Enter, my benefactor!" Jondrette repeated as he hurriedly rose.
M. Leblanc appeared with that air of serenity which rendered himsingularly venerable. He laid four louis on the table.
"Monsieur Fabantou, here is the money for your rent, and something moreto put you a little straight. After that we will see."
"May Heaven repay you, my generous: benefactor!" said Jondrette, andthen rapidly approached his wife.
"Dismiss the coach."
She slipped away, while her husband made an infinitude of bows, andoffered a chair to M. Leblanc. A moment after she returned, andwhispered in his ear, "All right!"
The snow, which had not ceased to fall since morning, was now so thickthat neither the arrival nor the departure of the coach had been heard.M. Leblanc had seated himself, and Jondrette now took possession ofthe chair opposite to him. And now the reader, in order to form anidea of the scene which is about to be acted, will kindly imaginethe freezing night, the solitudes of the Salpêtrière covered withsnow and white in the moonlight, like an immense winding-sheet, andthe light of the lamps throwing a red glow here and there over thesetragic boulevards and the long rows of black elms: not a passer-by fora quarter of a league round, and the Maison Gorbeau at its highestpoint of silence, horror, and night. In this house, amid this solitudeand darkness, is Jondrette's spacious garret lit by a candle, and inthis den two men are sitting at a table,--M. Leblanc calm, Jondrettesmiling and terrible. Mother Jondrette, the she-wolf, is in a c
orner,and behind the partition, Marius, invisible, but not losing a word ora movement, with his eye on the watch, and pistols in hand. Marius,however, only felt an emotion of horror, but no fear: he clutched thebutt of the pistol, and said to himself, feeling reassured, "I canstop the scoundrel whenever I like." He felt that the police weresomewhere in ambush, waiting for the appointed signal, and all readyto aid. In addition, he hoped that from this violent encounter betweenJondrette and M. Leblanc some light would be thrown on all that he hadan interest in knowing.
CHAPTER XIX.
TREATING OF DARK DEPTHS.
M. Leblanc was scarce seated ere he turned his eyes to the beds, whichwere empty.
"How is the poor little wounded girl?" he asked.
"Very bad," Jondrette replied with a heart-broken and grateful smile."Very bad, my good sir. Her elder sister has taken her to La Bourbeto have her hand dressed. But you will see them, as they will returnalmost immediately."
"Madame Fabantou seems to me better?" M. Leblanc continued, taking aglance at the strange garb of Mother Jondrette, who, standing betweenhim and the door, as if already guarding the outlet, was looking at himin a menacing and almost combative posture.
"She is dying," Jondrette said. "But what would you have, sir? Thatwoman has so much courage. She is not a woman, but an ox."
Mother Jondrette, affected by the compliment, protested with theaffectation of a flattered monster,--
"You are always too kind to me, Monsieur Jondrette."
"Jondrette?" said M. Leblanc; "why, I thought your name was Fabantou."
"Fabantou _alias_ Jondrette," the husband quickly replied,--"aprofessional name."
And throwing at his wife a shrug of the shoulders which M. Leblanc didnot see, he continued with an emphatic and caressing inflection ofvoice,--
"Ah! that poor dear and I have ever lived happily together, for whatwould be left us if we had not that, we are so wretched, respectablesir? I have arms, but no labor; a heart, but no work. I do not knowhow the Government manage it, but, on my word of honor, sir, I am noJacobin, I wish them no harm; but if I were the ministers, on my mostsacred word, things would go differently. For instance, I wished mydaughters to learn the trade of making paper boxes. You will say to me,'What! a trade?' Yes, a trade, a simple trade, a bread-winner. Whata fall, my benefactor! What degradation, after persons have been insuch circumstances as we were! But, alas! nothing is left us from ourprosperous days. Nothing but one article,--a picture, to which I cling,but which I am ready to part with, as we must live."
While Jondrette was saying this with a sort of apparent disorder,which did not in any way alter the thoughtful and sagacious expressionof his face, Marius raised his eyes and saw some one at the back ofthe room whom he had not seen before. A man had just entered, but sosoftly that the hinges had not been heard to creak. This man had ona violet knitted jacket, old, worn, stained, and full of holes, widecotton-velvet trousers, thick socks on his feet, and no shirt; his neckwas bare, his arms were naked and tattooed, and his face was daubedwith black. He seated himself silently, and with folded arms, on thenearest bed, and as he was behind Mother Jondrette, he could be butdimly distinguished. That sort of magnetic instinct which warns the eyecaused M. Leblanc to turn almost at the same moment as Marius. He couldnot suppress a start of surprise, which Jondrette noticed.
"Ah, I see," Jondrette exclaimed, as he buttoned his coat complacently,"you are looking at your surtout? It fits me, really fits me capitally."
"Who is that man?" M. Leblanc asked.
"That?" said Jondrette; "oh, a neighbor; pay no attention to him."
The neighbor looked singular, but chemical factories abound in theFaubourg St. Marceau, and a workman may easily have a black face. M.Leblanc's whole person displayed a confident and intrepid candor as hecontinued,--
"I beg your pardon, but what were you saying, M. Fabantou?"
"I was saying, Monsieur, and dear protector," Jondrette replied, as heplaced his elbows on the table and gazed at M. Leblanc with fixed andtender eyes, very like those of a boa-constrictor,--"I was saying thatI had a picture to sell."
There was a slight noise at the door; a second man came in and seatedhimself on the bed behind Mother Jondrette. Like the first, he hadbare arms and a mask, either of ink or soot. Though this man literallyglided into the room, he could not prevent M. Leblanc noticing him.
"Take no heed," said Jondrette; "they are men living in the house. Iwas saying that I had a valuable picture left; look here, sir."
He rose, walked to the wall, against which the panel to which wehave already referred was leaning, and turned it round, while stillletting it rest on the wall. It was something, in fact, that resembleda picture, and which the candle almost illumined. Marius coulddistinguish nothing, as Jondrette was standing between him and thepicture; but he fancied he could catch a glimpse of a coarse daub, anda sort of principal character standing out of the canvas with the boldcrudity of a showman's pictures and screen paintings.
"What is that?" M. Leblanc asked.
Jondrette exclaimed,--
"A masterpiece, a most valuable picture, my benefactor! I am as muchattached to it as I am to my daughters, for it recalls dear memories.But, as I told you,--and I will not go back from my word,--I amwilling to dispose of it, as we are in such poverty."
Either by accident, or some vague feeling of anxiety, M. Leblanc'seye, while examining the picture, returned to the end of the room.There were now four men there, three seated on the bed and one leaningagainst the door-post, but all four bare-armed, motionless, and withblackened faces. One of those on the bed was leaning against the wallwith closed eyes and apparently asleep; this one was old, and the whitehair on the blackened face was horrible. The other two were young,--onewas hairy, the other bearded. Not a single one had shoes, and thosewho did not wear socks were barefooted. Jondrette remarked that M.Leblanc's eyes rested on these men.
"They are friends, neighbors," he said; "their faces are black becausethey work about the coal. They are chimney-menders. Do not troubleyourself about them, sir, but buy my picture. Have pity on my misery. Iwill not ask much for it; what value do you set upon it?"
"Well," M. Leblanc said, looking Jondrette full in the face, like a mansetting himself on guard, "it is some pot-house sign, and worth aboutthree francs."
Jondrette replied gently,--
"Have you your pocket-book about you? I shall be satisfied with athousand crowns."
M. Leblanc rose, set his back against the wall, and took a hurriedglance round the room. He had Jondrette on his left by the window,and on his right the woman and the four men by the door. The four mendid not stir, and did not even appear to see him. Jondrette had beguntalking again with a plaintive accent, and with such a wandering eyethat M. Leblanc might fairly believe that he simply had before him aman driven mad by misery.
"If you do not buy my picture, dear benefactor," Jondrette said, "Ihave no resource remaining, and nothing is left me but to throw myselfinto the river. When I think that I wished my two daughters to learnhow to make paper boxes for new-year's gifts--Well, for that yourequire a table with a backboard to prevent the glasses falling on theground, a stove made expressly, a pot with three compartments for thethree different degrees of strength which the glue must have, accordingas it is used for wood, paper, and cloth; a board to cut pasteboardon, a hammer, a pair of pincers, and the deuce knows what, and allthat to gain four sous a day! And you must work fourteen hours; andeach box passes thirteen times through the hands of the work-girl; andmoistening the paper, and not spoiling anything; and keeping the gluehot--the devil! I tell you, four sous a day! How do you expect them tolive?"
While speaking, Jondrette did not look at M. Leblanc, who was watchinghim. M. Leblanc's eye was fixed on Jondrette, and Jondrette's on thedoor, while Marius's gasping attention went from one to the other. M.Leblanc seemed to be asking himself. Is he a lunatic? And Jondretterepeated twice or thrice with all sorts of varied inflections in thesuppliant style, "All
that is left me is to throw myself into theriver! The other day I went for that purpose down three steps by theside of the bridge of Austerlitz." All at once his eyes glistenedwith a hideous radiance, the little man drew himself up and becamefrightful, he walked a step toward M. Leblanc, and shouted in athundering voice,--
"All this is not the question! Do you recognize me?"
CHAPTER XX.
THE TRAP.
The attic door was torn open, and three men in blue cloth blouses andwearing masks of black paper came in. The first was thin, and carriedan iron--shod cudgel; the second, who was a species of Colossus, held abutcher's pole-axe by the middle of the handle, with the hatchet down;while the third, a broad-shouldered fellow, not so thin as the firstbut not stout as the second, was armed with an enormous key stolenfrom some prison-gate. It seemed as if Jondrette had been awaiting thearrival of these men, and a hurried conversation took place between himand the man with the cudgel.