What are you worrying for, so long as he has money?”
The language of a master, and the reasoning of an innkeeper, neither of which admitted of any reply.
The man had placed his elbows on the table, and resumed his thoughtful attitude.
All the other travellers, both pedlers and carters, had withdrawn a little, and had ceased singing.
They were staring at him from a distance, with a sort of respectful awe.
This poorly dressed man, who drew “hind-wheels” from his pocket with so much ease, and who lavished gigantic dolls on dirty little brats in wooden shoes, was certainly a magnificent fellow, and one to be feared.
Many hours passed.
The midnight mass was over, the chimes had ceased, the drinkers had taken their departure, the drinking-shop was closed, the public room was deserted, the fire extinct, the stranger still remained in the same place and the same attitude.
From time to time he changed the elbow on which he leaned.
That was all; but he had not said a word since Cosette had left the room.
The Thenardiers alone, out of politeness and curiosity, had remained in the room.
“Is he going to pass the night in that fashion?” grumbled the Thenardier.
When two o’clock in the morning struck, she declared herself vanquished, and said to her husband,
“I’m going to bed.
Do as you like.”
Her husband seated himself at a table in the corner, lighted a candle, and began to read the Courrier Francais.
A good hour passed thus.
The worthy inn-keeper had perused the Courrier Francais at least three times, from the date of the number to the printer’s name.
The stranger did not stir.
Thenardier fidgeted, coughed, spit, blew his nose, and creaked his chair.
Not a movement on the man’s part.
“Is he asleep?” thought Thenardier.
The man was not asleep, but nothing could arouse him.
At last Thenardier took off his cap, stepped gently up to him, and ventured to say:—
“Is not Monsieur going to his repose?”
Not going to bed would have seemed to him excessive and familiar.
To repose smacked of luxury and respect.
These words possess the mysterious and admirable property of swelling the bill on the following day.
A chamber where one sleeps costs twenty sous; a chamber in which one reposes costs twenty francs.
“Well!” said the stranger, “you are right.
Where is your stable?”
“Sir!” exclaimed Thenardier, with a smile,
“I will conduct you, sir.”
He took the candle; the man picked up his bundle and cudgel, and Thenardier conducted him to a chamber on the first floor, which was of rare splendor, all furnished in mahogany, with a low bedstead, curtained with red calico.
“What is this?” said the traveller.
“It is really our bridal chamber,” said the tavern-keeper.
“My wife and I occupy another.
This is only entered three or four times a year.”
“I should have liked the stable quite as well,” said the man, abruptly.
Thenardier pretended not to hear this unamiable remark.
He lighted two perfectly fresh wax candles which figured on the chimney-piece. A very good fire was flickering on the hearth.
On the chimney-piece, under a glass globe, stood a woman’s head-dress in silver wire and orange flowers.
“And what is this?” resumed the stranger.
“That, sir,” said Thenardier, “is my wife’s wedding bonnet.”
The traveller surveyed the object with a glance which seemed to say,
“There really was a time, then, when that monster was a maiden?”
Thenardier lied, however.
When he had leased this paltry building for the purpose of converting it into a tavern, he had found this chamber decorated in just this manner, and had purchased the furniture and obtained the orange flowers at second hand, with the idea that this would cast a graceful shadow on “his spouse,” and would result in what the English call respectability for his house.
When the traveller turned round, the host had disappeared.
Thenardier had withdrawn discreetly, without venturing to wish him a good night, as he did not wish to treat with disrespectful cordiality a man whom he proposed to fleece royally the following morning.