It was not so very long ago that I was a parishioner of the parish of die-of-hunger-if-you-have-a-fire,-die-of-cold-if-you-have-bread!
I have had enough of misery! my share and other people’s share!
I am not joking any longer, I don’t find it comic any more, I’ve had enough of puns, good God! no more farces, Eternal Father!
I want to eat till I am full, I want to drink my fill! to gormandize! to sleep! to do nothing!
I want to have my turn, so I do, come now! before I die!
I want to be a bit of a millionnaire!”
He took a turn round the hovel, and added:—
“Like other people.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked the woman.
He shook his head, winked, screwed up one eye, and raised his voice like a medical professor who is about to make a demonstration:—
“What do I mean by that?
Listen!”
“Hush!” muttered the woman, “not so loud!
These are matters which must not be overheard.”
“Bah!
Who’s here?
Our neighbor?
I saw him go out a little while ago.
Besides, he doesn’t listen, the big booby.
And I tell you that I saw him go out.”
Nevertheless, by a sort of instinct, Jondrette lowered his voice, although not sufficiently to prevent Marius hearing his words.
One favorable circumstance, which enabled Marius not to lose a word of this conversation was the falling snow which deadened the sound of vehicles on the boulevard.
This is what Marius heard:—
“Listen carefully.
The Cr?sus is caught, or as good as caught!
That’s all settled already.
Everything is arranged.
I have seen some people.
He will come here this evening at six o’clock.
To bring sixty francs, the rascal!
Did you notice how I played that game on him, my sixty francs, my landlord, my fourth of February?
I don’t even owe for one quarter!
Isn’t he a fool!
So he will come at six o’clock!
That’s the hour when our neighbor goes to his dinner.
Mother Bougon is off washing dishes in the city.
There’s not a soul in the house.
The neighbor never comes home until eleven o’clock.
The children shall stand on watch.
You shall help us.
He will give in.”
“And what if he does not give in?” demanded his wife.
Jondrette made a sinister gesture, and said:—
“We’ll fix him.”
And he burst out laughing.
This was the first time Marius had seen him laugh.
The laugh was cold and sweet, and provoked a shudder.
Jondrette opened a cupboard near the fireplace, and drew from it an old cap, which he placed on his head, after brushing it with his sleeve.
“Now,” said he, “I’m going out.
I have some more people that I must see. Good ones.