“Come, child,” he said to Cosette; and he made haste to quit the Rue Pontoise.
He took a circuit, turned into the Passage des Patriarches, which was closed on account of the hour, strode along the Rue de l‘Epee-de-Bois and the Rue de l’Arbalete, and plunged into the Rue des Postes.
At that time there was a square formed by the intersection of streets, where the College Rollin stands to-day, and where the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve turns off.
It is understood, of course, that the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve is an old street, and that a posting-chaise does not pass through the Rue des Postes once in ten years.
In the thirteenth century this Rue des Postes was inhabited by potters, and its real name is Rue des Pots.
The moon cast a livid light into this open space.
Jean Valjean went into ambush in a doorway, calculating that if the men were still following him, he could not fail to get a good look at them, as they traversed this illuminated space.
In point of fact, three minutes had not elapsed when the men made their appearance.
There were four of them now. All were tall, dressed in long, brown coats, with round hats, and huge cudgels in their hands.
Their great stature and their vast fists rendered them no less alarming than did their sinister stride through the darkness.
One would have pronounced them four spectres disguised as bourgeois.
They halted in the middle of the space and formed a group, like men in consultation.
They had an air of indecision.
The one who appeared to be their leader turned round and pointed hastily with his right hand in the direction which Jean Valjean had taken; another seemed to indicate the contrary direction with considerable obstinacy.
At the moment when the first man wheeled round, the moon fell full in his face.
Jean Valjean recognized Javert perfectly.
CHAPTER II—IT IS LUCKY THAT THE PONT D’AUSTERLITZ BEARS CARRIAGES
Uncertainty was at an end for Jean Valjean: fortunately it still lasted for the men.
He took advantage of their hesitation. It was time lost for them, but gained for him.
He slipped from under the gate where he had concealed himself, and went down the Rue des Postes, towards the region of the Jardin des Plantes.
Cosette was beginning to be tired. He took her in his arms and carried her.
There were no passers-by, and the street lanterns had not been lighted on account of there being a moon.
He redoubled his pace.
In a few strides he had reached the Goblet potteries, on the front of which the moonlight rendered distinctly legible the ancient inscription:—
De Goblet fils c’est ici la fabrique;
Venez choisir des cruches et des brocs,
Des pots a fleurs, des tuyaux, de la brique.
A tout venant le C?ur vend des Carreaux.
He left behind him the Rue de la Clef, then the Fountain Saint-Victor, skirted the Jardin des Plantes by the lower streets, and reached the quay.
There he turned round.
The quay was deserted.
The streets were deserted.
There was no one behind him.
He drew a long breath.
He gained the Pont d’Austerlitz.
Tolls were still collected there at that epoch.
He presented himself at the toll office and handed over a sou.
“It is two sous,” said the old soldier in charge of the bridge.
“You are carrying a child who can walk.
Pay for two.”
He paid, vexed that his passage should have aroused remark.
Every flight should be an imperceptible slipping away.
A heavy cart was crossing the Seine at the same time as himself, and on its way, like him, to the right bank.
This was of use to him.
He could traverse the bridge in the shadow of the cart.
Towards the middle of the Bridge, Cosette, whose feet were benumbed, wanted to walk.
He set her on the ground and took her hand again.
The bridge once crossed, he perceived some timber-yards on his right. He directed his course thither.
In order to reach them, it was necessary to risk himself in a tolerably large unsheltered and illuminated space.
He did not hesitate.