THE TARIFF OF CAB-FARES.
Marius had lost nothing of all this scene, and yet in reality he had
seen nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the maiden, his heart had, so
to speak, seized and entirely enfolded her from her first step into
the garret. During the whole time she had been there he had lived that
life of ecstasy which suspends material perceptions and concentrates
the whole mind upon one point. He contemplated not the girl, but the
radiance which was dressed in a satin pelisse and a velvet bonnet.
Had the planet Sirius entered the room he would not have been more
dazzled. While she was opening the parcel, and unfolding the clothes
and blankets, questioning the sick mother kindly, and the little
wounded girl tenderly, he watched her every movement, and tried to
hear her words. Though he knew her eyes, her forehead, her beauty, her
waist, and her walk, he did not know the sound of her voice. He fancied
that he had caught a few words once at the Luxembourg, but he was not
absolutely sure. He would have given ten years of his life to hear her,
and to carry off in his soul a little of this music; but all was lost
in the lamentable braying of Jondrette's trumpet. This mingled a real
anger with Marius's ravishment, and he devoured her with his eyes, for
he could not imagine that it was really this divine creature whom he
perceived among these unclean beings in this monstrous den; he fancied
that he saw a humming-bird among frogs.
When she left the room he had but one thought,--to follow her, to
attach himself to her trail, not to leave her till he knew where she
lived, or at least not to lose her again after having so miraculously
found her. He leaped off the drawers, and seized his hat, but just as
he laid his hand on the latch and was going out a reflection arrested
him; the passage was long, the staircase steep, Jondrette chattering,
and M. Leblanc had doubtless not yet got into his coach again. If,
turning in the passage or on the stairs, he were to perceive him,
Marius, in this house, he would assuredly be alarmed, and find means to
escape him again, and so all would be over for the second time. What
was to be done,--wait awhile? But during this delay the vehicle might
start off. Marius was perplexed, but at length risked it, and left the
room. There was no one in the passage, and he ran to the stairs, and as
there was no one upon them he hurried down and reached the boulevard
just in time to see a hackney coach turning the corner of the Rue du
Petit Banquier, on its road to Paris.
Marius rushed in that direction, and on reaching the corner of the
boulevard saw the hackney coach again rapidly rolling along the Rue
Mouffetard; it was already some distance off, and he had no means of
overtaking it. Running after it was an impossibility; and besides, a
man running at full speed after the vehicle would be seen from it, and
the father would recognize him. At this moment, by an extraordinary
and marvellous accident, Marius perceived a cab passing along the
boulevard, empty. There was only one thing to be done,--get into this
cab and follow the hackney coach; that was sure, efficacious, and
without danger. Marius made the driver a sign to stop, and shouted to
him, "By the hour!" Marius had no cravat on, he wore his old working
coat, from which buttons were missing, and one of the plaits of his
shirt was torn. The driver stopped, winked, and held out to Marius his
left hand as he gently rubbed his forefinger with his thumb.
"What do you mean?" Marius asked.
"Payment in advance," said the coachman.
Marius remembered that he had only sixteen sous in his pocket.
"How much is it?"
"Forty sous."
"I will pay on returning."
The driver, in reply, whistled the air of La Palisse, and lashed his
horse. Marius watched the cab go off with a haggard look; for the want
of twenty-four sous he lost his joy, his happiness, his love! He fell
back into night! He had seen, and was becoming blind again. He thought
bitterly, and, we must add, with deep regret, of the five francs which
he had given that very morning to the wretched girl. If he still had
them, he would be saved, would emerge from limbo and darkness, and be
drawn from isolation, spleen, and widowhood; he would have reattached
the black thread of his destiny to the beauteous golden thread which
had just floated before his eyes only to be broken again! He returned
to his garret in despair. He might have said to himself that M. Leblanc
had promised to return that evening, and that then he must contrive to
follow him better; but in his contemplation he had scarce heard him.
Just as he was going up the stairs he noticed on the other side of
the wall, and against the deserted wall of the Rue de la Barrière des
Gobelins, Jondrette, wrapped up in the "philanthropist's" overcoat, and
conversing with one of those ill-looking men who are usually called
prowlers at the barrière; men with equivocal faces and suspicious
soliloquies, who look as if they entertain evil thoughts, and most
usually sleep by day, which leads to the supposition that they work
at night. These two men, standing to talk in the snow, which was
falling heavily, formed a group which a policeman would certainly
have observed, but which Marius scarce noticed. Still, though his
preoccupation was so painful, he could not help saying to himself that
the man to whom Jondrette was talking was like a certain Panchaud,
_alias_ Printanier, _alias_ Bigrenaille, whom Courfeyrac had once
pointed out to him, and who was regarded in the quarter as a very
dangerous night-bird. This Panchaud afterwards figured in several
criminal trials, and eventually became a celebrated villain, though at
this time he was only a famous villain. At the present day he is in a
traditionary state among the bandits and burglars. He was the model
toward the end of the last reign, and people used to talk about him
in the Lion's den at La Force, at nightfall, at the hour when groups
assemble and converse in whispers. In this prison, and at the exact
spot where the sewer, which served as the way of escape for the thirty
prisoners in 1843, opened, this name, PANCHAUD, might be seen daringly
cut in the wall over the sewer, in one of his attempted escapes. In
1832 the police already had their eye on him, but he had not yet fairly
made a start.