He still wore the same impassive and preoccupied air.
“Monsieur Scaufflaire,” said he, “at what sum do you estimate the value of the horse and tilbury which you are to let to me,—the one bearing the other?” “The one dragging the other, Monsieur le Maire,” said the Fleming, with a broad smile. “So be it. Well?” “Does Monsieur le Maire wish to purchase them or me?”
“No; but I wish to guarantee you in any case.
You shall give me back the sum at my return.
At what value do you estimate your horse and cabriolet?”
“Five hundred francs, Monsieur le Maire.”
“Here it is.”
M. Madeleine laid a bank-bill on the table, then left the room; and this time he did not return.
Master Scaufflaire experienced a frightful regret that he had not said a thousand francs. Besides the horse and tilbury together were worth but a hundred crowns.
The Fleming called his wife, and related the affair to her.
“Where the devil could Monsieur le Maire be going?”
They held counsel together.
“He is going to Paris,” said the wife.
“I don’t believe it,” said the husband.
M. Madeleine had forgotten the paper with the figures on it, and it lay on the chimney-piece.
The Fleming picked it up and studied it.
“Five, six, eight and a half?
That must designate the posting relays.”
He turned to his wife:—
“I have found out.”
“What?”
“It is five leagues from here to Hesdin, six from Hesdin to Saint-Pol, eight and a half from Saint-Pol to Arras.
He is going to Arras.”
Meanwhile, M. Madeleine had returned home.
He had taken the longest way to return from Master Scaufflaire’s, as though the parsonage door had been a temptation for him, and he had wished to avoid it.
He ascended to his room, and there he shut himself up, which was a very simple act, since he liked to go to bed early.
Nevertheless, the portress of the factory, who was, at the same time, M. Madeleine’s only servant, noticed that the latter’s light was extinguished at half-past eight, and she mentioned it to the cashier when he came home, adding:—
“Is Monsieur le Maire ill?
I thought he had a rather singular air.”
This cashier occupied a room situated directly under M. Madeleine’s chamber.
He paid no heed to the portress’s words, but went to bed and to sleep.
Towards midnight he woke up with a start; in his sleep he had heard a noise above his head.
He listened; it was a footstep pacing back and forth, as though some one were walking in the room above him.
He listened more attentively, and recognized M. Madeleine’s step.
This struck him as strange; usually, there was no noise in M. Madeleine’s chamber until he rose in the morning.
A moment later the cashier heard a noise which resembled that of a cupboard being opened, and then shut again; then a piece of furniture was disarranged; then a pause ensued; then the step began again.
The cashier sat up in bed, quite awake now, and staring; and through his window-panes he saw the reddish gleam of a lighted window reflected on the opposite wall; from the direction of the rays, it could only come from the window of M. Madeleine’s chamber. The reflection wavered, as though it came rather from a fire which had been lighted than from a candle.
The shadow of the window-frame was not shown, which indicated that the window was wide open.
The fact that this window was open in such cold weather was surprising.
The cashier fell asleep again. An hour or two later he waked again.
The same step was still passing slowly and regularly back and forth overhead.
The reflection was still visible on the wall, but now it was pale and peaceful, like the reflection of a lamp or of a candle.
The window was still open.
This is what had taken place in M. Madeleine’s room.
CHAPTER III—A TEMPEST IN A SKULL
The reader has, no doubt, already divined that M. Madeleine is no other than Jean Valjean.
We have already gazed into the depths of this conscience; the moment has now come when we must take another look into it.
We do so not without emotion and trepidation.
There is nothing more terrible in existence than this sort of contemplation.
The eye of the spirit can nowhere find more dazzling brilliance and more shadow than in man; it can fix itself on no other thing which is more formidable, more complicated, more mysterious, and more infinite.