Essential Novelists - Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo

Neuilly-sur-Marne.

      Towards six o’clock in the evening they reached Chelles. The coachman drew up in front of the carters’ inn installed in the ancient buildings of the Royal Abbey, to give his horses a breathing spell.

      “I get down here,” said the man.

      He took his bundle and his cudgel and jumped down from the vehicle.

      An instant later he had disappeared.

      He did not enter the inn.

      When the coach set out for Lagny a few minutes later, it did not encounter him in the principal street of Chelles.

      The coachman turned to the inside travellers.

      “There,” said he, “is a man who does not belong here, for I do not know him. He had not the air of owning a sou, but he does not consider money; he pays to Lagny, and he goes only as far as Chelles. It is night; all the houses are shut; he does not enter the inn, and he is not to be found. So he has dived through the earth.”

      The man had not plunged into the earth, but he had gone with great strides through the dark, down the principal street of Chelles, then he had turned to the right before reaching the church, into the crossroad leading to Montfermeil, like a person who was acquainted with the country and had been there before.

      He followed this road rapidly. At the spot where it is intersected by the ancient tree-bordered road which runs from Gagny to Lagny, he heard people coming. He concealed himself precipitately in a ditch, and there waited until the passers-by were at a distance. The precaution was nearly superfluous, however; for, as we have already said, it was a very dark December night. Not more than two or three stars were visible in the sky.

      It is at this point that the ascent of the hill begins. The man did not return to the road to Montfermeil; he struck across the fields to the right, and entered the forest with long strides.

      Once in the forest he slackened his pace, and began a careful examination of all the trees, advancing, step by step, as though seeking and following a mysterious road known to himself alone. There came a moment when he appeared to lose himself, and he paused in indecision. At last he arrived, by dint of feeling his way inch by inch, at a clearing where there was a great heap of whitish stones. He stepped up briskly to these stones, and examined them attentively through the mists of night, as though he were passing them in review. A large tree, covered with those excrescences which are the warts of vegetation, stood a few paces distant from the pile of stones. He went up to this tree and passed his hand over the bark of the trunk, as though seeking to recognize and count all the warts.

      Opposite this tree, which was an ash, there was a chestnut-tree, suffering from a peeling of the bark, to which a band of zinc had been nailed by way of dressing. He raised himself on tiptoe and touched this band of zinc.

      Then he trod about for awhile on the ground comprised in the space between the tree and the heap of stones, like a person who is trying to assure himself that the soil has not recently been disturbed.

      That done, he took his bearings, and resumed his march through the forest.

      It was the man who had just met Cosette.

      As he walked through the thicket in the direction of Montfermeil, he had espied that tiny shadow moving with a groan, depositing a burden on the ground, then taking it up and setting out again. He drew near, and perceived that it was a very young child, laden with an enormous bucket of water. Then he approached the child, and silently grasped the handle of the bucket.

      Chapter VII

      Cosette Side By Side With The Stranger In The Dark

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      COSETTE, AS WE HAVE said, was not frightened.

      The man accosted her. He spoke in a voice that was grave and almost bass.

      “My child, what you are carrying is very heavy for you.”

      Cosette raised her head and replied:—

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Give it to me,” said the man; “I will carry it for you.”

      Cosette let go of the bucket-handle. The man walked along beside her.

      “It really is very heavy,” he muttered between his teeth. Then he added:—

      “How old are you, little one?”

      “Eight, sir.”

      “And have you come from far like this?”

      “From the spring in the forest.”

      “Are you going far?”

      “A good quarter of an hour’s walk from here.”

      The man said nothing for a moment; then he remarked abruptly:—

      “So you have no mother.”

      “I don’t know,” answered the child.

      Before the man had time to speak again, she added:—

      “I don’t think so. Other people have mothers. I have none.”

      And after a silence she went on:—

      “I think that I never had any.”

      The man halted; he set the bucket on the ground, bent down and placed both hands on the child’s shoulders, making an effort to look at her and to see her face in the dark.

      Cosette’s thin and sickly face was vaguely outlined by the livid light in the sky.

      “What is your name?” said the man.

      “Cosette.”

      The man seemed to have received an electric shock. He looked at her once more; then he removed his hands from Cosette’s shoulders, seized the bucket, and set out again.

      After a moment he inquired:—

      “Where do you live, little one?”

      “At Montfermeil, if you know where that is.”

      “That is where we are going?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      He paused; then began again:—

      “Who sent you at such an hour to get water in the forest?”

      “It was Madame Thénardier.”

      The man resumed, in a voice which he strove to render indifferent, but in which there was, nevertheless, a singular tremor:—

      “What does your Madame Thénardier do?”

      “She is my mistress,” said the child. “She keeps the inn.”

      “The inn?” said the man. “Well, I am going to lodge there to-night. Show me the way.”

      “We are on the way there,” said the child.

      The man walked tolerably fast. Cosette followed him without difficulty. She no longer felt any fatigue. From time to time she raised her eyes towards the man, with a sort of tranquillity and an indescribable confidence. She had never been taught to turn to Providence and to pray; nevertheless, she felt within her something which resembled hope and joy, and which mounted towards heaven.

      Several minutes elapsed. The man resumed:—

      “Is there no servant in Madame Thénardier’s house?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Are you alone there?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Another pause ensued. Cosette lifted up her voice:—

      “That