A sombre calm had succeeded to the wild uproar which had filled the garret but a few moments before.
The candle, on which a large “stranger” had formed, cast but a dim light in the immense hovel, the brazier had grown dull, and all those monstrous heads cast misshapen shadows on the walls and ceiling.
No sound was audible except the quiet breathing of the old drunken man, who was fast asleep.
Marius waited in a state of anxiety that was augmented by every trifle.
The enigma was more impenetrable than ever.
Who was this “little one” whom Thenardier had called the Lark?
Was she his
“Ursule”?
The prisoner had not seemed to be affected by that word, “the Lark,” and had replied in the most natural manner in the world:
“I do not know what you mean.”
On the other hand, the two letters U.
F. were explained; they meant Urbain Fabre; and Ursule was no longer named Ursule.
This was what Marius perceived most clearly of all.
A sort of horrible fascination held him nailed to his post, from which he was observing and commanding this whole scene.
There he stood, almost incapable of movement or reflection, as though annihilated by the abominable things viewed at such close quarters.
He waited, in the hope of some incident, no matter of what nature, since he could not collect his thoughts and did not know upon what course to decide.
“In any case,” he said, “if she is the Lark, I shall see her, for the Thenardier woman is to bring her hither.
That will be the end, and then I will give my life and my blood if necessary, but I will deliver her!
Nothing shall stop me.”
Nearly half an hour passed in this manner.
Thenardier seemed to be absorbed in gloomy reflections, the prisoner did not stir.
Still, Marius fancied that at intervals, and for the last few moments, he had heard a faint, dull noise in the direction of the prisoner.
All at once, Thenardier addressed the prisoner: “By the way, Monsieur Fabre, I might as well say it to you at once.”
These few words appeared to be the beginning of an explanation.
Marius strained his ears.
“My wife will be back shortly, don’t get impatient.
I think that the Lark really is your daughter, and it seems to me quite natural that you should keep her.
Only, listen to me a bit.
My wife will go and hunt her up with your letter.
I told my wife to dress herself in the way she did, so that your young lady might make no difficulty about following her.
They will both enter the carriage with my comrade behind.
Somewhere, outside the barrier, there is a trap harnessed to two very good horses.
Your young lady will be taken to it.
She will alight from the fiacre.
My comrade will enter the other vehicle with her, and my wife will come back here to tell us:
‘It’s done.’
As for the young lady, no harm will be done to her; the trap will conduct her to a place where she will be quiet, and just as soon as you have handed over to me those little two hundred thousand francs, she will be returned to you.
If you have me arrested, my comrade will give a turn of his thumb to the Lark, that’s all.”
The prisoner uttered not a syllable.
After a pause, Thenardier continued:—
“It’s very simple, as you see.
There’ll be no harm done unless you wish that there should be harm done.
I’m telling you how things stand.
I warn you so that you may be prepared.”
He paused: the prisoner did not break the silence, and Thenardier resumed:—
“As soon as my wife returns and says to me: ‘The Lark is on the way,’ we will release you, and you will be free to go and sleep at home.
You see that our intentions are not evil.”
Terrible images passed through Marius’ mind.
What!
That young girl whom they were abducting was not to be brought back?