Ma’am Bougon was in the habit of leaving all the doors open.
As he passed one of these attics, Marius thought he perceived in the uninhabited cell the motionless heads of four men, vaguely lighted up by a remnant of daylight, falling through a dormer window.
Marius made no attempt to see, not wishing to be seen himself.
He succeeded in reaching his chamber without being seen and without making any noise.
It was high time.
A moment later he heard Ma’am Bougon take her departure, locking the door of the house behind her.
CHAPTER XVI—IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND THE WORDS TO AN ENGLISH AIR WHICH WAS IN FASHION IN 1832
Marius seated himself on his bed.
It might have been half-past five o’clock.
Only half an hour separated him from what was about to happen.
He heard the beating of his arteries as one hears the ticking of a watch in the dark.
He thought of the double march which was going on at that moment in the dark,—crime advancing on one side, justice coming up on the other.
He was not afraid, but he could not think without a shudder of what was about to take place.
As is the case with all those who are suddenly assailed by an unforeseen adventure, the entire day produced upon him the effect of a dream, and in order to persuade himself that he was not the prey of a nightmare, he had to feel the cold barrels of the steel pistols in his trousers pockets.
It was no longer snowing; the moon disengaged itself more and more clearly from the mist, and its light, mingled with the white reflection of the snow which had fallen, communicated to the chamber a sort of twilight aspect.
There was a light in the Jondrette den.
Marius saw the hole in the wall shining with a reddish glow which seemed bloody to him.
It was true that the light could not be produced by a candle.
However, there was not a sound in the Jondrette quarters, not a soul was moving there, not a soul speaking, not a breath; the silence was glacial and profound, and had it not been for that light, he might have thought himself next door to a sepulchre.
Marius softly removed his boots and pushed them under his bed.
Several minutes elapsed.
Marius heard the lower door turn on its hinges; a heavy step mounted the staircase, and hastened along the corridor; the latch of the hovel was noisily lifted; it was Jondrette returning.
Instantly, several voices arose.
The whole family was in the garret. Only, it had been silent in the master’s absence, like wolf whelps in the absence of the wolf.
“It’s I,” said he.
“Good evening, daddy,” yelped the girls.
“Well?” said the mother.
“All’s going first-rate,” responded Jondrette, “but my feet are beastly cold.
Good! You have dressed up.
You have done well!
You must inspire confidence.”
“All ready to go out.”
“Don’t forget what I told you.
You will do everything sure?”
“Rest easy.”
“Because—” said Jondrette.
And he left the phrase unfinished.
Marius heard him lay something heavy on the table, probably the chisel which he had purchased.
“By the way,” said Jondrette, “have you been eating here?”
“Yes,” said the mother. “I got three large potatoes and some salt.
I took advantage of the fire to cook them.”
“Good,” returned Jondrette. “To-morrow I will take you out to dine with me.
We will have a duck and fixings.
You shall dine like Charles the Tenth; all is going well!”
Then he added:—
“The mouse-trap is open.
The cats are there.”
He lowered his voice still further, and said:—
“Put this in the fire.”
Marius heard a sound of charcoal being knocked with the tongs or some iron utensil, and Jondrette continued:—