3.V.1.6. MARIUS HAGGARD, JAVERT LACONIC
LET us narrate what was passing in Marius' thoughts.
Let the reader recall the state of his soul. We have just
recalled it, everything was a vision to him now. His judgment
was disturbed. Marius, let us insist on this point, was
under the shadow of the great, dark wings which are spread
over those in the death agony. He felt that he had entered
the tomb, it seemed to him that he was already on the other
side of the wall, and he no longer beheld the faces of the living
except with the eyes of one dead.
How did M. Fauchelevent come there? Why was he there?
What had be come there to do? Marius did not address all
these questions to himself. Besides, since our despair has this
peculiarity, that it envelops others as well as ourselves, it
seemed logical to him that all the world should come thither
to die.
Only, he thought of Cosette with a pang at his heart.
However, M. Fauchelevent did not speak to him, did not
look at him, and had not even the air of hearing him, when
Marius raised his voice to say: "I know him."
As far as Marius was concerned, this attitude of M.
Fauchelevent
was comforting, and, if such a word can be used for
such impressions, we should say that it pleased him. He had
always felt the absolute impossibility of addressing that
enigmatical
man, who was, in his eyes, both equivocal and imposing.
Moreover, it had been a long time since he had seen
him; and this still further augmented the impossibility for
Marius' timid and reserved nature.
The five chosen men left the barricade by way of Mondetour
lane; they bore a perfect resemblance to members of
the National Guard. One of them wept as he took his leave.
Before setting out, they embraced those who remained.
When the five men sent back to life had taken their
departure,
Enjolras thought of the man who had been condemned
to death.
He entered the tap-room. Javert, still bound to the post,
was engaged in meditation.
"Do you want anything?" Enjolras asked him.
"Javert replied: "When are you going to kill me?"
"Wait. We need all our cartridges just at present."
"Then give me a drink," said Javert.
Enjolras himself offered him a glass of water, and, as
Javert was pinioned, he helped him to drink.
"Is that all?" inquired Enjolras.
"I am uncomfortable against this post," replied Javert.
"You are not tender to have left me to pass the night here.
Bind me as you please, but you surely might lay me out on a
table like that other man."
And with a motion of the head, he indicated the body of
M. Mabeuf.
There was, as the reader will remember, a long, broad
table
at the end of the room, on which they had been running bullets
and making cartridges. All the cartridges having been
made, and all the powder used, this table was free.
At Enjolras' command, four insurgents unbound Javert
from the post. While they were loosing him, a fifth held a
bayonet against his breast.
Leaving his arms tied behind his back, they placed about
his feet a slender but stout whip-cord, as is done to men on
the point of mounting the scaffold, which allowed him to take
steps about fifteen inches in length, and made him walk to the
table at the end of the room, where they laid him down,
closely bound about the middle of the body.
By way of further security, and by means of a rope
fastened
to his neck, they added to the system of ligatures which
rendered every attempt at escape impossible, that sort of bond
which is called in prisons a martingale, which, starting at the
neck, forks on the stomach, and meets the hands, after passing
between the legs.
While they were binding Javert, a man standing on the
threshold was surveying him with singular attention. The
shadow cast by this man made Javert turn his head. He
raised his eyes, and recognized Jean Valjean. He did not
even start, but dropped his lids proudly and confined himself
to the remark: "It is perfectly simple."