Marius had watched the whole scene from the chest of drawers, yet in truth he had seen nothing. His eyes had stayed on the girl. He knew her eyes, her brow and the way she walked, but not her voice. To hear it once he would gladly have paid with ten years of life, and Jondrette’s loud lament had drowned out everything.
Once she was gone he had a single thought. Follow her. Do not lose her before you know where she lives. He jumped down, grabbed his hat, and stopped short at the door handle. The corridor was long, the stairs were steep and Jondrette talked a great deal. If Monsieur Leblanc turned and saw him in this house, he would take fright and vanish again.
He went all the same. There was no one in the corridor or on the stairs, and when he reached the boulevard a carriage was rounding into the Rue du Petit-Banquier and vanishing in the direction of Paris. On foot he had no hope of catching it.
Just then, like a miracle, an empty cab came by. Marius raised his hand and called out that he wanted it by the hour.
Twenty-four sous short
The driver looks over a young man with no necktie, a work coat missing its buttons and a shirt torn at the chest. He held out his left hand and rubbed his forefinger with his thumb.
In advance.
Marius remembers that he has only sixteen sous in his pocket. He asked how much, and the driver said forty sous.
I’ll pay you when we get back.
By way of answer the driver whistled and whipped up his horse.
For want of twenty-four sous he had lost his joy and his love. He thought bitterly of the five francs he had given the poor girl that morning. With that money he could have followed her.
He went home dejected. He had been too dazed to take in Monsieur Leblanc’s promise to come back that evening. As he was about to climb the stairs, he saw Jondrette across the boulevard, under the blank wall, wearing the benefactor’s brown overcoat and talking in the falling snow with a shady-looking man. The man looked like Panchaud, a dangerous night prowler Courfeyrac had once pointed out to him. Marius hardly noticed.
What will you give me
He was going into his garret when the elder girl from next door followed him and caught hold of the door. He resented her for taking his five francs.
You again? What do you want?
She was not as bold as she had been that morning. Standing in the shadow of the corridor, she raised thoughtful eyes and spoke.
Monsieur Marius, you look sad, what’s wrong? You gave me something to eat this morning, so now tell me what’s the matter. I won’t ask your secrets.
I’m good at carrying letters, asking from house to house, finding addresses, following people. Use me.
An idea crossed Marius’s mind. A falling man will catch at any branch.
He stepped closer. Listen…
Oh, yes, talk to me like that, like a friend! I like that.
You brought the old gentleman and his daughter here today. Do you know where they live?
No.
Then find out for me.
Her eyes lit up with joy, then clouded over at once. Is that what you want? Do you know them? When Marius said he did not, she was quick.
So you don’t know the young lady, and you want to.
When Marius corrected her and said the old man’s and the girl’s address, she gave him a long look.
What will you give me?
Whatever you want.
I’ll find the address.
She lowered her head and pulled the door shut sharply.
Words through the wall
Marius had his face buried in his bed when Jondrette’s rough voice came from next door.
I’m sure of it. I recognised him, I tell you.
Recognised whom? Monsieur Leblanc? Marius sprang onto the chest of drawers and put his eye to the hole again.
The wife and daughters were pulling woollen stockings and vests out of the bundle the benefactor had brought, and putting them on. Jondrette was pacing the room with long strides. It had been eight years, he said, but he knew him: the height, the face, almost unchanged, and the same voice. He sent his daughters out, telling the elder that both of them must be back by five without fail, because there would be work to do.
Alone with his wife, he folded his arms and began, that young lady. Then he whispered something in her ear and added out loud: it’s her!
Her? His wife’s voice was a mix of surprise, hatred and fury. My girls go barefoot with nothing to wear, and she has a silk cloak and a velvet hat! That one was ugly and this one is pretty, it can’t be! When her husband said he was certain, she screamed that she would like to kick the girl in the stomach with her clogs.
He stood before his wife and spoke low. My luck has turned.
He was sick, he said, of living where you either starved or froze to death. The rich man was coming back at six that evening with sixty francs. At that hour the young man next door would be out at dinner, and the old woman who looked after the house would be away washing dishes. The girls would keep watch and the wife would help. He would hand it over quietly.
And if he won’t?
Jondrette made a grim gesture. Then we’ll deal with him.
Then he laughed. Marius had never seen him laugh, and that cold, soft laugh made his skin crawl.
Putting on an old hat, Jondrette laughed that it was lucky the old man had not known him, thanks to his beard. Pulling the benefactor’s overcoat around him, he said he could not even have gone out without it. On his way out he came back, tossed his wife a five-franc piece and told her to buy a charcoal brazier. She was not to spend the rest, he said; he had things to buy at the ironmonger’s himself. The bell of Saint-Médard struck one.
Without that money
Marius was a dreamer, but he was also a man of resolve. What he had just looked into through the wall was a den of robbers.
He still did not know who the old man and the girl were. All he knew was that Jondrette knew them, and that a terrible trap was being laid for that evening. The old man was certainly in danger, and the girl probably too.
He had no way to warn them; he did not know where they lived. He could wait for the old man outside the door at six and tell him. But the place was lonely, and if Jondrette’s gang saw him they would seize him or drag him off, and that would be the end of the old man. He had five hours left. There was only one thing he could do.
He put on his less shabby coat, wound a scarf round his neck and left the house without a sound, as if walking barefoot on moss. Beyond the low wall in the Rue du Petit-Banquier two men squatting in the snow were talking quietly. With Patron-Minette it could not fail, they said; five hundred francs a head, and if it went wrong, five years, six, ten at the most.
He asked the way at a shop nearby and was told the police station was at 14 Rue de Pontoise. On the way he bought a two-sou roll and ate it, since he did not expect to have dinner. As he walked, he saw that morning differently. If he had not given the girl five francs, he would have followed the carriage. Then he would have heard nothing, and the old man would have walked straight into the trap.
14 Rue de Pontoise
The superintendent was out, they said, but the inspector was there. In the room Marius was shown into, a tall man stood leaning against the stove, holding up the skirts of a big three-caped greatcoat with both hands. A square face, a thin firm mouth, greying side whiskers, and eyes that looked as if they would turn your pockets inside out.
What is it? He did not even add monsieur.
Marius told him. A man he knew only by sight was going to walk into a trap that evening. He himself was Marius Pontmercy, a lawyer, and lived next door to the den, and had heard the whole plan through the wall. The man behind it was called Jondrette, there would be accomplices including one named Panchaud, and his daughters would keep watch. He did not even know the old man’s name and had no way to warn him. The time was six that evening, at the loneliest stretch of the Boulevard de l’Hôpital, number 50-52.
At the number, the inspector looked up.
The last room down the corridor?
That’s right. Do you know the house?
The inspector was silent a moment, then held his boot heel to the stove and answered. In a manner of speaking. Then he muttered, more to his necktie than to Marius, Patron-Minette must have a hand in this.
When Marius told him what he had heard beyond the wall, the inspector said one man would be Brujon and the other Demi-Liard, also called Deux-Milliards. He asked whether Marius had seen a big hulking fellow, or a pretty little dandy. Then he said there was nowhere to hide inside that house, so if police were in there, the whole lot would notice and call off the show. He wanted to see the show through to the end.
He gave Marius a long stare and asked.
Won’t you be afraid?
Of what?
Of those men.
No more than of you, Marius answered curtly. He had noticed that this policeman still would not call him monsieur.
The inspector stared at him harder still, then spoke with a kind of solemnity. You talk like a brave and honest man.
“Le courage ne craint pas le crime, et l’honnêteté ne craint pas l’autorité.” Courage has no fear of crime, and honesty has no fear of authority. (Part 3, Book 8, Chapter 14)
Not too early
The inspector asked whether each lodger had a key to the street door for coming in at night, and took Marius’s. When Marius urged him to bring plenty of men, the inspector gave him the look Voltaire might have given a provincial academician who offered him advice on rhyme. Then he put his two big hands into his greatcoat pockets and drew out two small steel pistols.
Take these. Go home and hide in your room, so they think you’ve gone out. Each one holds two charges.
You said there’s a hole in the wall. When they come, let them get on with it for a while, and when you judge the moment has come, fire a shot. Into the ceiling, anywhere. I’ll see to the rest.
You mustn’t fire too early. Wait until the crime has begun. You’re a lawyer, so you’ll know what that means.
Marius put the pistols in the side pocket of his coat, and the inspector told him they bulged and showed and he should use his trouser pockets. He asked the time, said it was half past two, and that six left time enough, but only just. As Marius took hold of the door handle the inspector called after him.
If you need me before then, come here or send someone. Ask for Inspector Javert.
A chisel from the ironmonger’s
Around three Courfeyrac and Bossuet, walking down the Rue Mouffetard, caught sight of Marius. Bossuet was about to call out when Courfeyrac stopped him: the man had the face of someone following somebody. They took it to be a woman, but the person ahead of him was a grey-bearded man in an overcoat far too big and new, over muddy ragged trousers. You can’t follow a man who is following a man, they said, and turned back.
Marius was trailing Jondrette. Jondrette went along the Rue Mouffetard and into an ironmonger’s where it meets the Rue Pierre-Lombard, bought a large chisel with a white wooden handle, and hid it under his overcoat. Then he climbed over the low wall in the Rue du Petit-Banquier and disappeared. The waste ground beyond the wall joined the back yard of a coach-hire business that had gone under.
Marius hurried home. Having given his key to the inspector, he had to get in before the old woman locked up. The moon was rising red behind the dome of the Salpêtrière. Creeping along the corridor on tiptoe, he glimpsed in one of the empty rooms four men’s heads that did not move. He reached his room unseen. Soon he heard the old woman go out and lock the street door.
The chisel in the fire
It was about half past five. Marius took off his boots and pushed them under the bed. The hole into the next room glowed blood red. Jondrette came home and his family greeted him. The trap is open and the cats are here, he said in a low voice. He also asked whether the door hinges had been oiled so they would not creak.
He told his elder daughter to go and see whether anyone was in the room next door. Marius crawled under his bed. Candle in hand, the girl came in and walked straight towards the bed. But what she was making for was the mirror hanging on the wall beside it. She looked at herself, smoothed her hair, and hummed a song about a love that had lasted only a week. When her father bellowed, she answered that she had looked under the bed and everywhere and there was no one, and went out. Soon he heard the two girls go out barefoot into the snow to keep watch, one towards the city gate and one where the Rue du Petit-Banquier meets the boulevard.
Marius put his eye to the hole again. Charcoal glowed red in a large sheet-iron brazier, and the chisel bought that afternoon was thrust into it, heating. In a corner near the door lay a heap of iron tools and a coil of rope. The rope was a rope ladder with wooden rungs. Jondrette hid the brazier behind an old screen. He took a long kitchen knife from the table drawer, tested the edge on his thumbnail and put it back.
Marius too took the pistol from his right pocket and cocked it. It gave a small clear click, and Jondrette half rose from his chair.
Who’s there?
He listened a moment and laughed. Fool, it’s the wall creaking.
When Jondrette said they needed two chairs, his wife said she would fetch the ones next door and came into Marius’s room. On the chest of drawers, Marius had no time to get down. Moonlight fell between two shadows, and one of them covered the wall where he stood. She did not see him, and carried off both his chairs.
Six o’clock
Saint-Médard struck six. Jondrette nodded at each stroke. At the sixth he snuffed the candle wick with his fingers. Scarcely had he sat down when the door opened.
Come in, sir. Come in, my benefactor.
Monsieur Leblanc, that is, Jean Valjean, came in. He put four louis on the table. Monsieur Fabantou, here is something for the rent and whatever cannot wait. We’ll see about the rest later. Jondrette’s wife sent the cab away. The snow had been falling since morning and lay so thick that no one heard the cab come or go.
Monsieur Leblanc sat in one chair and Jondrette took the one opposite. On the other side of the wall Marius gripped his pistol. He was not afraid. He could take this man whenever he chose, he thought.
When Monsieur Leblanc asked after the injured child, Jondrette said the elder girl had taken her to hospital. When he remarked that the wife looked well, Jondrette said she was dying. The wife stood as if guarding the space between the door and the old man. When she called her husband Monsieur Jondrette, Monsieur Leblanc asked whether he was not Monsieur Fabantou, and Jondrette explained that Fabantou was his stage name.
Meanwhile a man had come in without a sound and sat on the edge of the pallet. He wore no shirt, his arms were bare and his face was smeared with soot. A neighbour, Jondrette said. Another came in. People from the house, said Jondrette.
A painting worth a thousand crowns
Jondrette turned round a wooden panel that had been standing with its face to the wall. He was too poor to keep it, he said, but he loved it as much as his two daughters. It was daubed in crude colours like a fairground picture and seemed to show some large figure.
When Monsieur Leblanc looked round again, the men had become four. Three sat on the pallet and one leaned against the doorpost, all four with bare arms and blackened faces. One was an old man with white hair who seemed to be asleep with his eyes shut. Jondrette said they were chimney sweeps who worked with charcoal, not to mind them, and to please buy the painting.
Monsieur Leblanc looked Jondrette straight in the eye. This looks like a tavern sign. It might be worth three francs.
Jondrette answered softly. You have your wallet on you. A thousand crowns will do.
Monsieur Leblanc rose and put his back to the wall and looked round the room. On the left by the window was Jondrette, and on the right by the door, his wife and the four men. Jondrette whined on: he had tried to teach his daughters to make boxes and failed, there was nothing for it but to throw himself in the river. His eyes were not on Monsieur Leblanc but on the door.
Then all at once those dull eyes caught fire. The little man sprang up, took a step towards Monsieur Leblanc and shouted.
None of that matters! Do you know who I am?
The name
At that moment the door opened and three men in black paper masks came in. One held a club studded with iron, one a pole-axe for slaughtering cattle, and one a huge key that looked stolen from a prison door. Jondrette asked the man with the club a few questions. Was everything ready? Was the cab below? Was the cart with two horses waiting at the place agreed?
Monsieur Leblanc had gone white, but there was no sign of fear in him. He made a shield of the table and set a powerful fist on the back of his chair. A moment ago a kindly old man, he suddenly looked like a wrestler. The three so-called chimney sweeps picked up big shears, a crowbar and a hammer from the heap of iron and silently stood across the door.
Marius lifted his right hand, pistol pointed at the ceiling. In a few seconds it would be time to fire.
Jondrette asked again, with a low, terrible laugh. You really don’t know me?
Monsieur Leblanc faced him and answered. No.
Jondrette came up to the table, leaned over the candle, folded his arms, and thrust his square jaw close to Monsieur Leblanc’s face.
I’m not Fabantou and I’m not Jondrette. My name is Thénardier, the innkeeper from Montfermeil! You hear me, Thénardier! Now do you know me?
The faintest flush passed over Monsieur Leblanc’s forehead. Without a tremor in his voice, without raising it, he answered that it made no difference.
Marius did not hear that answer. At the name Thénardier he shook from head to foot and leaned against the wall. It was as if a blade had gone through his heart. The right arm he had raised to fire the signal came slowly down. When the name rang out a second time, you hear me, Thénardier, the pistol dropped from his slackened fingers.
Today, a name through the wall
That morning Marius gave the five francs he had to the girl next door. Because of that he lost the carriage, and because he lost the carriage he heard the plan through the wall.
In the afternoon he went to the police station and reported it. The inspector gave him two pistols and one piece of advice. Don’t fire too early. Wait until the crime has begun.
The inspector’s name was Javert. Marius heard it for the first time.
When, after six, the moment he was waiting for came, the man next door gave his name. It was the name Marius had been searching for for four years.
Have you ever met someone you had long been looking for in a place you never expected?