2.M.8.7. STRATEGY AND TACTICS
MARIUS, with a load upon his breast, was on the point of
descending from the species of observatory which he had
improvised, when a sound attracted his attention and caused
him to remain at his post.
The door of the attic had just burst open abruptly. The
eldest girl made her appearance on the threshold. On her feet,
she had large, coarse, men's shoes, bespattered with mud,
which had splashed even to her red ankles, and she was
wrapped in an old mantle which hung in tatters. Marius had
not seen it on her an hour previously, but she had probably
deposited it at his door, in order that she might inspire the
more pity, and had picked it up again on emerging. She
entered, pushed the door to behind her, paused to take breath,
for she was completely breathless, then exclaimed with an
expression of triumph and joy: —
"He is coming!"
The father turned his eyes towards her, the woman turned
her head, the little sister did not stir.
"Who?" demanded her father.
"The gentleman!"
"The philanthropist?"
"Yes."
"From the church of Saint-Jacques?"
"Yes."
"That old fellow?"
"Yes."
"And he is coming?"
"He is following me."
"You are sure?"
"I am sure."
"There, truly, he is coming?"
"He is coming in a fiacre."
"In a fiacre. He is Rothschild."
The father rose.
"How are you sure? If he is coming in a fiacre, how is it
that you arrive before him? You gave him our address at
least? Did you tell him that it was the last door at the end of
the corridor, on the right? If he only does not make a mistake!
So you found him at the church? Did he read my
letter? What did he say to you?"
"Ta, ta, ta," said the girl, "how you do gallop on, my
good
man! See here: I entered the church, he was in his usual
place, I made him a reverence, and I handed him the letter; he
read it and said to me: 'Where do you live, my child?' I said:
'Monsieur, I will show you.' He said to me: 'No, give me
your address, my daughter has some purchases to make, I will
take a carriage and reach your house at the same time that
you do.' I gave him the address. When I mentioned the
house, he seemed surprised and hesitated for an instant, then
he said: 'Never mind, I will come.' When the mass was
finished, I watched him leave the church with his daughter,
and I saw them enter a carriage. I certainly did tell him
the last door in the corridor, on the right."
"And what makes you think that he will come?"
"I have just seen the fiacre turn into the Rue Petit-Banquier.
That is what made me run so."
"How do you know that it was the same flacre?"
"Because I took notice of the number, so there!"
"What was the number?"
"440."
"Good, you are a clever girl."
The girl stared boldly at her father, and showing the
shoes
which she had on her feet: —
"A clever girl, possibly; but I tell you I won't put these
shoes on again, and that I won't, for the sake of my health, in
the first place, and for the sake of cleanliness, in the next. I
don't know anything more irritating than shoes that squelch,
and go ghi, ghi, ghi, the whole time. I prefer to go
barefoot."
"You are right," said her father, in a sweet tone which
contrasted with the young girl's rudeness, "but then, you will
not be allowed to enter churches, for poor people must have
shoes to do that. One cannot go barefoot to the good God,"
he added bitterly.
Then, returning to the subject which absorbed him: —
"So you are sure that he will come?"
"He is following on my heels," said she.
The man started up. A sort of illumination appeared on
his countenance.
"Wife!" he exclaimed, "you hear. Here is the
philanthropist.
Extinguish the fire."
The stupefied mother did not stir.
The father, with the agility of an acrobat, seized a
broken-nosed jug which stood on the chimney, and flung the water on
the brands.
Then, addressing his eldest daughter: —
"Here you! Pull the straw off that chair!"
His daughter did not understand.
He seized the chair, and with one kick he rendered it
seatless.
His leg passed through it.
As he withdrew his leg, he asked his daughter: —
"Is it cold?"
"Very cold. It is snowing."
The father turned towards the younger girl who sat on the
bed near the window, and shouted to her in a thundering
voice: —
"Quick! get off that bed, you lazy thing! will you never
do
anything? Break a pane of glass!"
The little girl jumped off the bed with a shiver.
"Break a pane!" he repeated.
The child stood still in bewilderment.
"Do you hear me?" repeated her father, "I tell you to
break
a pane!"
The child, with a sort of terrified obedience, rose on
tiptoe,
and struck a pane with her fist. The glass broke and fell with
a loud clatter.
"Good," said the father.
He was grave and abrupt. His glance swept rapidly over
all the crannies of the garret. One would have said that he
was a general making the final preparation at the moment
when the battle is on the point of beginning.
The mother, who had not said a word so far, now rose and
demanded in a dull, slow, languid voice, whence her words
seemed to emerge in a congealed state: —
"What do you mean to do, my dear?"
"Get into bed," replied the man.
His intonation admitted of no deliberation. The mother
obeyed, and threw herself heavily on one of the pallets.
In the meantime, a sob became audible in one corner.
"What's that?" cried the father.
The younger daughter exhibited her bleeding fist, without
quitting the corner in which she was cowering. She had
wounded herself while breaking the window; she went off,
near her mother's pallet and wept silently.
It was now the mother's turn to start up and exclaim: —
"Just see there! What follies you commit! She has cut
herself breaking that pane for you!"
"So much the better!" said the man. "I foresaw that."
"What? So much the better?" retorted his wife.
"Peace!" replied the father, "I suppress the liberty of
the
press."
Then tearing the woman's chemise which he was wearing,
he made a strip of cloth with which he hastily swathed the
little girl's bleeding wrist.
That done, his eye fell with a satisfied expression on his
torn chemise.
"And the chemise too," said he, "this has a good
appearance."
An
icy breeze whistled through the window and entered the
room. The outer mist penetrated thither and diffused itself
like a whitish sheet of wadding vaguely spread by invisible
fingers. Through the broken pane the snow could be seen
falling. The snow promised by the Candlemas sun of the
preceding day had actually come.
The father cast a glance about him as though to make sure
that he had forgotten nothing. He seized an old shovel and
spread ashes over the wet brands in such a manner as to
entirely conceal them.
Then drawing himself up and leaning against the chimney-piece: —
"Now," said he, "we can receive the philanthropist."