Les Misérables, page 108
CHAPTER IX-- THÉNARDIER AND HIS MANOUVRES
On the following morning, two hours at least before day-break,Thénardier, seated beside a candle in the public room of the tavern, penin hand, was making out the bill for the traveller with the yellow coat.
His wife, standing beside him, and half bent over him, was followinghim with her eyes. They exchanged not a word. On the one hand, there wasprofound meditation, on the other, the religious admiration with whichone watches the birth and development of a marvel of the human mind. Anoise was audible in the house; it was the Lark sweeping the stairs.
After the lapse of a good quarter of an hour, and some erasures,Thénardier produced the following masterpiece:--
BILL OF THE GENTLEMAN IN No. 1.
Supper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 francs. Chamber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 " Candle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 " Fire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 " Service . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 " ---------- Total . . . . . . 23 francs.
Service was written _servisse_.
"Twenty-three francs!" cried the woman, with an enthusiasm which wasmingled with some hesitation.
Like all great artists, Thénardier was dissatisfied.
"Peuh!" he exclaimed.
It was the accent of Castlereagh auditing France's bill at the Congressof Vienna.
"Monsieur Thénardier, you are right; he certainly owes that," murmuredthe wife, who was thinking of the doll bestowed on Cosette in thepresence of her daughters. "It is just, but it is too much. He will notpay it."
Thénardier laughed coldly, as usual, and said:--
"He will pay."
This laugh was the supreme assertion of certainty and authority. Thatwhich was asserted in this manner must needs be so. His wife did notinsist.
She set about arranging the table; her husband paced the room. A momentlater he added:--
"I owe full fifteen hundred francs!"
He went and seated himself in the chimney-corner, meditating, with hisfeet among the warm ashes.
"Ah! by the way," resumed his wife, "you don't forget that I'm going toturn Cosette out of doors to-day? The monster! She breaks my heart withthat doll of hers! I'd rather marry Louis XVIII. than keep her anotherday in the house!"
Thénardier lighted his pipe, and replied between two puffs:--
"You will hand that bill to the man."
Then he went out.
Hardly had he left the room when the traveller entered.
Thénardier instantly reappeared behind him and remained motionless inthe half-open door, visible only to his wife.
The yellow man carried his bundle and his cudgel in his hand.
"Up so early?" said Madame Thénardier; "is Monsieur leaving us already?"
As she spoke thus, she was twisting the bill about in her hands with anembarrassed air, and making creases in it with her nails. Her hardface presented a shade which was not habitual with it,--timidity andscruples.
To present such a bill to a man who had so completely the air "of a poorwretch" seemed difficult to her.
The traveller appeared to be preoccupied and absent-minded. Hereplied:--
"Yes, Madame, I am going."
"So Monsieur has no business in Montfermeil?"
"No, I was passing through. That is all. What do I owe you, Madame," headded.
The Thénardier silently handed him the folded bill.
The man unfolded the paper and glanced at it; but his thoughts wereevidently elsewhere.
"Madame," he resumed, "is business good here in Montfermeil?"
"So so, Monsieur," replied the Thénardier, stupefied at not witnessinganother sort of explosion.
She continued, in a dreary and lamentable tone:--
"Oh! Monsieur, times are so hard! and then, we have so few bourgeois inthe neighborhood! All the people are poor, you see. If we had not, nowand then, some rich and generous travellers like Monsieur, we shouldnot get along at all. We have so many expenses. Just see, that child iscosting us our very eyes."
"What child?"
"Why, the little one, you know! Cosette--the Lark, as she is calledhereabouts!"
"Ah!" said the man.
She went on:--
"How stupid these peasants are with their nicknames! She has more theair of a bat than of a lark. You see, sir, we do not ask charity, and wecannot bestow it. We earn nothing and we have to pay out a great deal.The license, the imposts, the door and window tax, the hundredths!Monsieur is aware that the government demands a terrible deal of money.And then, I have my daughters. I have no need to bring up other people'schildren."
The man resumed, in that voice which he strove to render indifferent,and in which there lingered a tremor:--
"What if one were to rid you of her?"
"Who? Cosette?"
"Yes."
The landlady's red and violent face brightened up hideously.
"Ah! sir, my dear sir, take her, keep her, lead her off, carry heraway, sugar her, stuff her with truffles, drink her, eat her, and theblessings of the good holy Virgin and of all the saints of paradise beupon you!"
"Agreed."
"Really! You will take her away?"
"I will take her away."
"Immediately?"
"Immediately. Call the child."
"Cosette!" screamed the Thénardier.
"In the meantime," pursued the man, "I will pay you what I owe you. Howmuch is it?"
He cast a glance on the bill, and could not restrain a start ofsurprise:--
"Twenty-three francs!"
He looked at the landlady, and repeated:--
"Twenty-three francs?"
There was in the enunciation of these words, thus repeated, an accentbetween an exclamation and an interrogation point.
The Thénardier had had time to prepare herself for the shock. Shereplied, with assurance:--
"Good gracious, yes, sir, it is twenty-three francs."
The stranger laid five five-franc pieces on the table.
"Go and get the child," said he.
At that moment Thénardier advanced to the middle of the room, andsaid:--
"Monsieur owes twenty-six sous."
"Twenty-six sous!" exclaimed his wife.
"Twenty sous for the chamber," resumed Thénardier, coldly, "and six sousfor his supper. As for the child, I must discuss that matter a littlewith the gentleman. Leave us, wife."
Madame Thénardier was dazzled as with the shock caused by unexpectedlightning flashes of talent. She was conscious that a great actor wasmaking his entrance on the stage, uttered not a word in reply, and leftthe room.
As soon as they were alone, Thénardier offered the traveller a chair.The traveller seated himself; Thénardier remained standing, and his faceassumed a singular expression of good-fellowship and simplicity.
"Sir," said he, "what I have to say to you is this, that I adore thatchild."
The stranger gazed intently at him.
"What child?"
Thénardier continued:--
"How strange it is, one grows attached. What money is that? Take backyour hundred-sou piece. I adore the child."
"Whom do you mean?" demanded the stranger.
"Eh! our little Cosette! Are you not intending to take her away fromus? Well, I speak frankly; as true as you are an honest man, I will notconsent to it. I shall miss that child. I saw her first when she was atiny thing. It is true that she costs us money; it is true that she hasher faults; it is true that we are not rich; it is true that I have paidout over four hundred francs for drugs for just one of her illnesses!But one must do something for the good God's sake. She has neitherfather nor mother. I have brought her up. I have bread enough forher and for myself. In truth, I think a great deal of that child. Youunderstand, one conceives an affection for a person; I am a good sortof a beast, I am; I do not reason; I love that little girl; my wife isquick-tempered, but she loves her also. You see, she is just the same asour own child. I want to keep her to babble about the house."
The stranger kept his eye intently fixed on Thénardier. The lattercontinued:--
"Excuse me, sir, but one does not give away one's child to a passer-by,like that. I am right, am I not? Still, I don't say--you are rich; youhave the air of a very good man,--if it were for her happiness. But onemust find out that. You understand: suppose that I were to let her goand to sacrifice myself, I should like to know what becomes of her; Ishould not wish to lose sight of her; I should like to know with whomshe is living, so that I could go to see her from time to time; so thatshe may know that her good foster-father is alive, that he is watchingover her. In short, there are things which are not possible. I do noteven know your name. If you were to take her away, I should say: 'Well,and the Lark, what has become of her?' One must, at least, see somepetty scrap of paper, some trifle in the way of a passport, you know!"
The stranger, still surveying him with that gaze which penetrates, asthe saying goes, to the very depths of the conscience, replied in agrave, firm voice:--
"Monsieur Thénardier, one does not require a passport to travel fiveleagues from Paris. If I take Cosette away, I shall take her away, andthat is the end of the matter. You will not know my name, you will notknow my residence, you will not know where she is; and my intention isthat she shall never set eyes on you again so long as she lives. I breakthe thread which binds her foot, and she departs. Does that suit you?Yes or no?"
Since geniuses, like demons, recognize the presence of a superior God bycertain signs, Thénardier comprehended that he had to deal with a verystrong person. It was like an intuition; he comprehended it with hisclear and sagacious promptitude. While drinking with the carters,smoking, and singing coarse songs on the preceding evening, he haddevoted the whole of the time to observing the stranger, watching himlike a cat, and studying him like a mathematician. He had watched him,both on his own account, for the pleasure of the thing, and throughinstinct, and had spied upon him as though he had been paid for sodoing. Not a movement, not a gesture, on the part of the man in theyellow great-coat had escaped him. Even before the stranger had soclearly manifested his interest in Cosette, Thénardier had divined hispurpose. He had caught the old man's deep glances returning constantlyto the child. Who was this man? Why this interest? Why this hideouscostume, when he had so much money in his purse? Questions which he putto himself without being able to solve them, and which irritated him. Hehad pondered it all night long. He could not be Cosette's father. Was heher grandfather? Then why not make himself known at once? When one hasa right, one asserts it. This man evidently had no right over Cosette.What was it, then? Thénardier lost himself in conjectures. He caughtglimpses of everything, but he saw nothing. Be that as it may, onentering into conversation with the man, sure that there was some secretin the case, that the latter had some interest in remaining in theshadow, he felt himself strong; when he perceived from the stranger'sclear and firm retort, that this mysterious personage was mysterious inso simple a way, he became conscious that he was weak. He had expectednothing of the sort. His conjectures were put to the rout. He ralliedhis ideas. He weighed everything in the space of a second. Thénardierwas one of those men who take in a situation at a glance. He decidedthat the moment had arrived for proceeding straightforward, and quicklyat that. He did as great leaders do at the decisive moment, which theyknow that they alone recognize; he abruptly unmasked his batteries.
"Sir," said he, "I am in need of fifteen hundred francs."
The stranger took from his side pocket an old pocketbook of blackleather, opened it, drew out three bank-bills, which he laid on thetable. Then he placed his large thumb on the notes and said to theinn-keeper:--
"Go and fetch Cosette."
While this was taking place, what had Cosette been doing?
On waking up, Cosette had run to get her shoe. In it she had found thegold piece. It was not a Napoleon; it was one of those perfectly newtwenty-franc pieces of the Restoration, on whose effigy the littlePrussian queue had replaced the laurel wreath. Cosette was dazzled. Herdestiny began to intoxicate her. She did not know what a gold piece was;she had never seen one; she hid it quickly in her pocket, as thoughshe had stolen it. Still, she felt that it really was hers; she guessedwhence her gift had come, but the joy which she experienced was full offear. She was happy; above all she was stupefied. Such magnificent andbeautiful things did not appear real. The doll frightened her, thegold piece frightened her. She trembled vaguely in the presence of thismagnificence. The stranger alone did not frighten her. On the contrary,he reassured her. Ever since the preceding evening, amid all heramazement, even in her sleep, she had been thinking in her littlechildish mind of that man who seemed to be so poor and so sad, and whowas so rich and so kind. Everything had changed for her since she hadmet that good man in the forest. Cosette, less happy than the mostinsignificant swallow of heaven, had never known what it was to takerefuge under a mother's shadow and under a wing. For the last fiveyears, that is to say, as far back as her memory ran, the poor child hadshivered and trembled. She had always been exposed completely nakedto the sharp wind of adversity; now it seemed to her she was clothed.Formerly her soul had seemed cold, now it was warm. Cosette was nolonger afraid of the Thénardier. She was no longer alone; there was someone there.
She hastily set about her regular morning duties. That louis, which shehad about her, in the very apron pocket whence the fifteen-sou piece hadfallen on the night before, distracted her thoughts. She dared not touchit, but she spent five minutes in gazing at it, with her tongue hangingout, if the truth must be told. As she swept the staircase, she paused,remained standing there motionless, forgetful of her broom and of theentire universe, occupied in gazing at that star which was blazing atthe bottom of her pocket.
It was during one of these periods of contemplation that the Thénardierjoined her. She had gone in search of Cosette at her husband's orders.What was quite unprecedented, she neither struck her nor said aninsulting word to her.
"Cosette," she said, almost gently, "come immediately."
An instant later Cosette entered the public room.
The stranger took up the bundle which he had brought and untied it. Thisbundle contained a little woollen gown, an apron, a fustian bodice, akerchief, a petticoat, woollen stockings, shoes--a complete outfit for agirl of seven years. All was black.
"My child," said the man, "take these, and go and dress yourselfquickly."
Daylight was appearing when those of the inhabitants of Montfermeil whohad begun to open their doors beheld a poorly clad old man leading alittle girl dressed in mourning, and carrying a pink doll in her arms,pass along the road to Paris. They were going in the direction of Livry.
It was our man and Cosette.
No one knew the man; as Cosette was no longer in rags, many did notrecognize her. Cosette was going away. With whom? She did not know.Whither? She knew not. All that she understood was that she was leavingthe Thénardier tavern behind her. No one had thought of bidding herfarewell, nor had she thought of taking leave of any one. She wasleaving that hated and hating house.
Poor, gentle creature, whose heart had been repressed up to that hour!
Cosette walked along gravely, with her large eyes wide open, and gazingat the sky. She had put her louis in the pocket of her new apron. Fromtime to time, she bent down and glanced at it; then she looked at thegood man. She felt something as though she were beside the good God.
