Les Misérables, page 63
CHAPTER II--THE PERSPICACITY OF MASTER SCAUFFLAIRE
From the town-hall he betook himself to the extremity of the town, to aFleming named Master Scaufflaer, French Scaufflaire, who let out "horsesand cabriolets as desired."
In order to reach this Scaufflaire, the shortest way was to take thelittle-frequented street in which was situated the parsonage of theparish in which M. Madeleine resided. The curé was, it was said, aworthy, respectable, and sensible man. At the moment when M. Madeleinearrived in front of the parsonage there was but one passer-by in thestreet, and this person noticed this: After the mayor had passed thepriest's house he halted, stood motionless, then turned about, andretraced his steps to the door of the parsonage, which had an ironknocker. He laid his hand quickly on the knocker and lifted it; thenhe paused again and stopped short, as though in thought, and afterthe lapse of a few seconds, instead of allowing the knocker to fallabruptly, he placed it gently, and resumed his way with a sort of hastewhich had not been apparent previously.
M. Madeleine found Master Scaufflaire at home, engaged in stitching aharness over.
"Master Scaufflaire," he inquired, "have you a good horse?"
"Mr. Mayor," said the Fleming, "all my horses are good. What do you meanby a good horse?"
"I mean a horse which can travel twenty leagues in a day."
"The deuce!" said the Fleming. "Twenty leagues!"
"Yes."
"Hitched to a cabriolet?"
"Yes."
"And how long can he rest at the end of his journey?"
"He must be able to set out again on the next day if necessary."
"To traverse the same road?"
"Yes."
"The deuce! the deuce! And it is twenty leagues?"
M. Madeleine drew from his pocket the paper on which he had pencilledsome figures. He showed it to the Fleming. The figures were 5, 6, 8½.
"You see," he said, "total, nineteen and a half; as well say twentyleagues."
"Mr. Mayor," returned the Fleming, "I have just what you want. My littlewhite horse--you may have seen him pass occasionally; he is a smallbeast from Lower Boulonnais. He is full of fire. They wanted to makea saddle-horse of him at first. Bah! He reared, he kicked, he laideverybody flat on the ground. He was thought to be vicious, and no oneknew what to do with him. I bought him. I harnessed him to a carriage.That is what he wanted, sir; he is as gentle as a girl; he goes like thewind. Ah! indeed he must not be mounted. It does not suit his ideas tobe a saddle-horse. Every one has his ambition. 'Draw? Yes. Carry? No.'We must suppose that is what he said to himself."
"And he will accomplish the trip?"
"Your twenty leagues all at a full trot, and in less than eight hours.But here are the conditions."
"State them."
"In the first place, you will give him half an hour's breathing spellmidway of the road; he will eat; and some one must be by while he iseating to prevent the stable boy of the inn from stealing his oats; forI have noticed that in inns the oats are more often drunk by the stablemen than eaten by the horses."
"Some one will be by."
"In the second place--is the cabriolet for Monsieur le Maire?"
"Yes."
"Does Monsieur le Maire know how to drive?"
"Yes."
"Well, Monsieur le Maire will travel alone and without baggage, in ordernot to overload the horse?"
"Agreed."
"But as Monsieur le Maire will have no one with him, he will be obligedto take the trouble himself of seeing that the oats are not stolen."
"That is understood."
"I am to have thirty francs a day. The days of rest to be paid foralso--not a farthing less; and the beast's food to be at Monsieur leMaire's expense."
M. Madeleine drew three napoleons from his purse and laid them on thetable.
"Here is the pay for two days in advance."
"Fourthly, for such a journey a cabriolet would be too heavy, and wouldfatigue the horse. Monsieur le Maire must consent to travel in a littletilbury that I own."
"I consent to that."
"It is light, but it has no cover."
"That makes no difference to me."
"Has Monsieur le Maire reflected that we are in the middle of winter?"
M. Madeleine did not reply. The Fleming resumed:--
"That it is very cold?"
M. Madeleine preserved silence.
Master Scaufflaire continued:--
"That it may rain?"
M. Madeleine raised his head and said:--
"The tilbury and the horse will be in front of my door to-morrow morningat half-past four o'clock."
"Of course, Monsieur le Maire," replied Scaufflaire; then, scratching aspeck in the wood of the table with his thumb-nail, he resumed with thatcareless air which the Flemings understand so well how to mingle withtheir shrewdness:--
"But this is what I am thinking of now: Monsieur le Maire has not toldme where he is going. Where is Monsieur le Maire going?"
He had been thinking of nothing else since the beginning of theconversation, but he did not know why he had not dared to put thequestion.
"Are your horse's forelegs good?" said M. Madeleine.
"Yes, Monsieur le Maire. You must hold him in a little when going downhill. Are there many descends between here and the place whither you aregoing?"
"Do not forget to be at my door at precisely half-past four o'clockto-morrow morning," replied M. Madeleine; and he took his departure.
The Fleming remained "utterly stupid," as he himself said some timeafterwards.
The mayor had been gone two or three minutes when the door opened again;it was the mayor once more.
He still wore the same impassive and preoccupied air.
"Monsieur Scaufflaire," said he, "at what sum do you estimate the valueof the horse and tilbury which you are to let to me,--the one bearingthe other?"
"The one dragging the other, Monsieur le Maire," said the Fleming, witha broad smile.
"So be it. Well?"
"Does Monsieur le Maire wish to purchase them or me?"
"No; but I wish to guarantee you in any case. You shall give me backthe sum at my return. At what value do you estimate your horse andcabriolet?"
"Five hundred francs, Monsieur le Maire."
"Here it is."
M. Madeleine laid a bank-bill on the table, then left the room; and thistime he did not return.
Master Scaufflaire experienced a frightful regret that he had not said athousand francs. Besides the horse and tilbury together were worth but ahundred crowns.
The Fleming called his wife, and related the affair to her. "Where thedevil could Monsieur le Maire be going?" They held counsel together."He is going to Paris," said the wife. "I don't believe it," said thehusband.
M. Madeleine had forgotten the paper with the figures on it, and it layon the chimney-piece. The Fleming picked it up and studied it. "Five,six, eight and a half? That must designate the posting relays." Heturned to his wife:--
"I have found out."
"What?"
"It is five leagues from here to Hesdin, six from Hesdin to Saint-Pol,eight and a half from Saint-Pol to Arras. He is going to Arras."
Meanwhile, M. Madeleine had returned home. He had taken the longest wayto return from Master Scaufflaire's, as though the parsonage door hadbeen a temptation for him, and he had wished to avoid it. He ascendedto his room, and there he shut himself up, which was a very simple act,since he liked to go to bed early. Nevertheless, the portress of thefactory, who was, at the same time, M. Madeleine's only servant, noticedthat the latter's light was extinguished at half-past eight, and shementioned it to the cashier when he came home, adding:--
"Is Monsieur le Maire ill? I thought he had a rather singular air."
This cashier occupied a room situated directly under M. Madeleine'schamber. He paid no heed to the portress's words, but went to bed andto sleep. Towards midnight he woke up with a start; in his sleep he hadheard a noise above his head. He listened; it was a footstep pacing backand forth, as though some one were walking in the room above him. Helistened more attentively, and recognized M. Madeleine's step. Thisstruck him as strange; usually, there was no noise in M. Madeleine'schamber until he rose in the morning. A moment later the cashier hearda noise which resembled that of a cupboard being opened, and then shutagain; then a piece of furniture was disarranged; then a pause ensued;then the step began again. The cashier sat up in bed, quite awake now,and staring; and through his window-panes he saw the reddish gleam of alighted window reflected on the opposite wall; from the direction of therays, it could only come from the window of M. Madeleine's chamber. Thereflection wavered, as though it came rather from a fire which hadbeen lighted than from a candle. The shadow of the window-frame was notshown, which indicated that the window was wide open. The fact that thiswindow was open in such cold weather was surprising. The cashier fellasleep again. An hour or two later he waked again. The same step wasstill passing slowly and regularly back and forth overhead.
The reflection was still visible on the wall, but now it was pale andpeaceful, like the reflection of a lamp or of a candle. The window wasstill open.
This is what had taken place in M. Madeleine's room.
