‘Cash in advance,’ he said.
Marius then remembered that he had only sixteen sous on him.
‘How much?’
‘Forty sous.’
‘I’ll pay you when you’ve brought me back.’
The cabby’s only reply was to whistle derisively and whip up his horse.
Marius gazed miserably after him. For lack of twenty-four sous he was losing love and the hope of happiness, to be plunged again in darkness. After seeing a gleam of light he was again blind. He thought bitterly and with the utmost regret, be it said, of the five francs he had given that wretched girl. They might have saved him, rescued him from desolation, aimlessness, and solitude; instead of which, the bright thread of his destiny had again been broken and its darkest strands renewed. He went back to the tenement in despair.
He might have reflected that Monsieur Leblanc had promised to return that evening, and that this time he might be more successful in his efforts to track him down; but such was his state of dejection that the thought scarcely occurred to him.
As he was about to enter the house he saw Jondrette, enveloped in the ‘philanthropist’s’ overcoat, standing beside the long, blank wall of the Rue de la Barrière des Gobelins in conversation with one of those sinister individuals known as ‘gateway prowlers’; highly suspect figures, cryptic in their speech, who have a look of evil about them and who generally sleep by day, leading one to suppose that they do their work at night. The two men, standing motionless with their heads together under whirling snowflakes, formed a group which could not have failed to interest any guardian of the law, but which Marius scarcely noticed.
However, despite his melancholy preoccupations, the thought crossed his mind that the man Jondrette was talking to resembled a certain Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille, who had been pointed out to him by Courfeyrac and was regarded in the quarter as a dangerous night-bird. His name has already appeared in our pages. He was destined later, from having figured in a number of criminal trials, to acquire considerable celebrity, although at this time he was still no more than an inconspicuous rogue. Today he is a folk-hero of the underworld, talked of in whispers in the night-haunts of criminals and in the exercise-yard at the prison of La Force. Indeed in this prison, from which in 1843 thirty prisoners achieved the unheard-of feat of escaping in broad daylight, doing so by way of the latrine sewer, the name of PANCHAUD may still be read, audaciously carved on a wall above the latrines during one of his previous attempts to escape. In 1832 the police already had their eye on him, but he had not yet made strides in his career.
XI
An offer of assistance
Marius went slowly up the tenement stairs; but as he walked along the corridor he saw that he was being followed by the elder Jondrette girl. The sight of her was now detestable to him, since she had had his five francs. There was no point in asking for them back; the fiacre had long since vanished from sight, and in any case she would not have returned them. Nor was there any point in asking her for the address of their visitors. Clearly she did not know this, since the letter signed Fabantou had been addressed simply to the gentleman at the Church of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas. He went into his garret, pushing the door to behind him.
But the door did not shut, and turning, he saw that a hand was holding it ajar.
‘What is it?’ he demanded.
It was the Jondrette girl. ‘So it’s you again,’ said Marius almost harshly. ‘What do you want now?’
She did not reply but stood thoughtfully regarding him, seeming to have lost all her earlier assurance. She had not entered the room, but was still standing in the half-light of the corridor.
‘Can’t you answer?’ said Marius. ‘What do you want of me?’
She looked at him with mournful eyes, in which however a feint light gleamed.
‘Monsieur Marius,’ she said, ‘you seem upset. What is the matter?’
‘With me?’ asked Marius.
‘Yes.’
‘There’s nothing the matter with me.’
‘But there is.’
‘Please leave me alone.’ Marius tried again to shut the door, but she still held it open.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ she said. ‘You aren’t rich, but you were generous this morning. Be kind now. You gave me money for food, now tell me what your trouble is. I can see you’re unhappy about something, and I don’t want you to be unhappy. Is there nothing I can do for you? You have only to say. I’m not asking for secrets, you have no need to tell me everything, but perhaps I can be useful. I help my father, so perhaps I can help you too. When it comes to delivering letters, knocking at doors, finding out an address or following someone, well, that’s my job. You can tell me what you want, and perhaps there’s someone I can talk to. Sometimes you go and talk to people and you find things out and everything’s put right. You have only to say.’
He drew closer to her, a drowning man clutching at a straw.
‘Well, listen, my dear–’
She interrupted him, her eyes suddenly glowing.
‘Yes, talk to me nicely! That’s much better.’
‘Well, you brought that gentleman here, with his daughter. Do you know their address?’
‘No.’
‘Can you find out for me?’
The light had vanished from her face as swiftly as it had come.
‘Is that what you want?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know them?’
‘No.’
‘In other words,’ she said sharply, and with a hint of bitterness, ‘you don’t know her, and you want to?’
‘Can you do it?’ asked Marius.
‘Get you the address of the beautiful young lady?’
The note of sarcasm irritated Marius.
‘It doesn’t matter which,’ he said impatiently. ‘The address of father and daughter. Their address.’
She looked hard at him.
‘What will you give me?’
‘Anything you want.’
‘Anything?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll get it.’
And abruptly she withdrew, closing the door behind her.
Marius dropped on to a chair and leaned forward with both elbows on his bed and his head in his hands, rendered almost giddy by the thought of all that had happened in so brief a time – the appearance of his divinity and her disappearance, and the undertaking this girl had just given him, which came as a ray of hope in his despair. But suddenly he started up.
The harsh voice of Jondrette was loudly raised next door, speaking words that instantly intrigued him.
‘I tell you I’m sure. I recognized him.’
To whom else could he be referring, if not to Monsieur Leblanc? Was the mystery surrounding father and daughter to be resolved in this rough, unpredictable fashion? Without another thought Marius leapt rather than climbed on to the chest of drawers and again stood peering through his spy-hole into the Jondrettes’ lair.
XII
Use made of a five-franc piece
Nothing had changed except that the woman and the two girls had undone the parcel and were now wearing stockings and vests. Two new blankets lay on the beds.
Jondrette, who had evidently just come in, was still gasping with the chill of the outside air. The girls were seated on the floor by the fireplace, the older binding up the younger one’s hand. The woman was huddled on one of the beds staring in astonishment while her husband, with an extraordinary light in his eyes, strode up and down the room. She seemed dumbfounded by what he had been saying. She asked hesitantly:
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. It’s eight years, but I recognized him all right. I spotted him at once. Do you mean to say you didn’t?’
‘No.’
‘But I told you to have a good look at him – the general build of the man, and the face – he’s scarcely aged in eight years, there are people who never seem to look any older, I
don’t know how they manage it – and then, the sound of his voice. He’s better dressed, that’s all. But, by God, I’ve got him now! … He broke off to address the two girls. ‘Clear out, you two … I’m surprised you didn’t see it at once.’
The girls got submissively to their feet, and the mother murmured:
‘With her cut hand?’
‘The fresh air will do her good,’ said Jondrette. ‘Off you go.’
He was clearly not a man to be argued with. The girls obeyed. But as they reached the door Jondrette took the elder by the arm and said with particular emphasis:
‘You’re to be back here at exactly five o’clock. Both of you. I’m going to need you.’
Marius was by now even more keenly interested.
Left alone with his wife, Jondrette resumed his pacing of the room. He paused for a moment to tuck the chemise into his trouser-waist, and then, turning abruptly and confronting her with folded arms, he said:
‘And I’ll tell you another thing. That girl …’
‘The girl,’ said his wife. ‘Well, what of her?’
There could no longer be any doubt about whom they were talking. Marius was now in a state of feverish expectation, his whole being concentrated in his ears. But Jondrette had bent over the woman and was talking in a whisper. Straightening up, he concluded:
‘That’s who she is.’
‘Her?’ said the woman.
‘Yes, her.’
No words can convey the tone of the woman’s voice, in which stupefaction, hatred, and outrage were mingled with a monstrous ferocity. Her husband’s whisper in her ear had had a startling effect on the gross creature lying on the bed: from being merely repulsive she had become hideous.
‘Impossible!’ she cried. ‘Our daughters barefoot and not a dress to their name, and that one in satin and fur and ankle boots – two hundred francs’ worth on her back and looking like a lady! You can’t be right. For one thing, that brat was ugly and this one’s not bad-looking, not bad at all. It can’t be the same.’
‘I tell you it is. You’ll see.’
His absolute assurance caused the Jondrette woman to stare up at the ceiling, her broad, raddled face distorted. At that moment she appeared to Marius more formidable than her husband – a sow with the look of a tigress.
‘That brat! And she comes here dressed like a lady and condescends to my daughters. I’d like to trample on her belly!’
Scrambling off the bed, she stood motionless for a moment, hair dishevelled, nostrils dilated, mouth half open while she thrust her clenched fists out behind her. Then she sank back on the bed. Her husband, paying no attention to this display, was again pacing the room. But after a brief silence he turned and faced her in his previous posture, with his arms folded.
‘Do you want me to tell you something else?’
‘What?’
He said in a low, tense voice:
‘This is going to make our fortune.’
The woman stared at him as though wondering if he had taken leave of his senses.
‘I’ve been a down-and-out long enough,’ he went on, ‘one of the starve-if-you-want-food-or-freeze-if-you-want-a-fire brigade. I’m tired of being one of the underdogs, a cur running with the pack. It doesn’t amuse me any more, it isn’t funny, I’m sick of God-almighty’s jokes. I want to be able to eat my fill and drink my fill, guzzle to my heart’s content and sleep it off, and never a stroke of work. I reckon it’s my turn, by God! Before I die I want to know what it feels like to live like a millionaire.’ He took another turn round the room and added: ‘Me and certain others.’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked.
He nodded and winked and said in the voice of a street-hawker crying his wares:
‘What does it mean? I’ll tell you. It means –’
‘Hush!’ said the woman. ‘Not so loud, if this is something other people aren’t supposed to hear.’
‘What other people? Him next door? I saw him go out a little while ago. Anyway, d’you think he’d be listening, Johnnie-head-in-air? I tell you, I saw him go out.’
He lowered his voice, but not enough to prevent Marius from hearing what he said. The fact that he missed nothing of what followed was in part due to the snowfall, which deadened the sound of vehicles passing along the boulevard.
‘Listen,’ Jondrette went on. ‘I’ve got him, the rich philanthropist. It’s in the bag. It’s all arranged. I’ve been talking to people. He’s coming at six, bringing the sixty francs. You heard the yarn I spun him, a year’s rent and the landlord, when it isn’t even quarter-day. He swallowed it, so he’ll be here at six, when the fine fellow next door goes off to dine and old mother Burgon’s out on a cleaning job. There won’t be a soul in the place. Him next door doesn’t ever get back before eleven. The girls will keep watch, you’ll help us, and he’ll cough up.’
‘But supposing he doesn’t?’
Jondrette made a gesture. ‘We’ll know what to do about it.’
For the first time Marius heard him laugh, a cold, soft laugh that made him shudder. Jondrette went to a cupboard and got out an old cap which he put on his head after brushing it with his sleeve.
‘I’ve got to go out again. There are some other men I’ve got to see, real good ‘uns. You’ll see. It’s a great game. I won’t be long. You stay and keep house.’ He stood in thought for a moment, with his hands in his trousers pockets, and then exclaimed: ‘You know, it’s a bit of luck he didn’t recognize me. If he had he wouldn’t be coming here again, not likely! It’s the beard that saved me – my flowing, romantic beard!’ He laughed once more and went over to the window. It was still snowing. ‘Filthy weather,’ he muttered, and drew the overcoat about him. ‘It’s too big for me, but no matter. It’s a devilish good thing the old rascal left it or I shouldn’t have been able to go out at all, and we’d have missed the chance. It’s wonderful the way things work out.’
Pulling the cap down over his eyes, he left the room; but a moment later the door opened again and his crafty, savage face appeared round it.
‘Something I meant to tell you. You’re to have a charcoal fire going.’
He tossed his wife the five-franc piece the visitor had given him.
‘A charcoal fire?’ she repeated.
‘That’s right.’
‘How much charcoal?’
‘A good two bushels.’
‘That’ll cost thirty sous. I’ll get something for supper with the rest.’
‘Not on your life!’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want you spending any more of the money. There’s something I’ll have to buy.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Something … Is there an ironmonger’s round here?’
‘In the Rue Mouffetard.’
‘Ah, yes, I know the place.’
‘But how much is this thing going to cost?’
‘Two or three francs.’
‘That doesn’t leave much for supper.’
‘Then we must do without. We’ve something more important to think about.’
‘Very well, love.’
The door closed again, and this time Marius heard Jondrette’s footsteps go rapidly along the corridor and down the stairs.
The Saint-Médard clock struck one.
XIII
Marius acts
Despite his addiction to daydreaming Marius, as we know, was capable of firm and decided action. His solitary way of life, in developing his capacity for sympathy and compassion, had perhaps also made him more easy-going; but it had in no way diminished his capacity for outrage. He combined the benevolence of a Brahmin with the sternness of a judge: he might pity a toad, but he would set his foot on a viper. And what he had been peering into was a viper’s nest, a den of monsters.
‘These wretches must be dealt with,’ he told himself.
None of the riddles that perplexed him had been answered; if anything they had become more mystifying. He had learnt nothing more about
the girl in the Luxembourg and the gentleman whom he called Monsieur Leblanc except that Jondrette knew them. Only one thing was clear from the conversation he had overheard, and this was that some kind of trap was being prepared, the nature of which he did not know but which represented a serious threat to both of them, the girl in all likelihood and her father for certain. He had to thwart Jondrette’s stratagems and destroy this spider’s web.
He continued for a moment to watch the Jondrette woman. She had fetched an old iron brazier from a corner of the room and was doing something to it. He got down from the chest of drawers, moving with the utmost caution. Amid his dread of what was being prepared, and the horror with which the Jondrettes inspired him, was a glow of happiness at the thought that he might be able to serve his beloved.
But how? He could not warn the prospective victims since he did not know where to find them. They had appeared for a brief moment and then vanished into the huge labyrinth of Paris. He might mount guard outside the house at six o’clock that evening and warn Monsieur Leblanc when he arrived. But Jondrette and his friends would be likely to see him; the street would be deserted at that hour and they would be too many for him, able to carry him off or drive him away, leaving Monsieur Leblanc none the wiser.
One o’clock had struck. Marius had five hours in which to act. There was only one thing to be done. Changing into his good suit, he wrapped a scarf round his neck, put on his hat and stole out of the house as quietly as though he were walking barefoot on grass.
He turned out of the boulevard into the Rue du Petit-Banquier. A section of the street was flanked by a low wall, so low that in places he could have stepped over it, beyond which lay a patch of wasteland. Marius was passing by this wall, walking slowly in his preoccupation, his footsteps deadened by the snow, when he heard the sound of voices somewhere near him. He looked round, but the street was empty. It was broad daylight, but he could distinctly hear voices. It occurred to him to look over the wall.
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