THE TWO CHAIRS FACE TO FACE.
At this moment the distant and melancholy vibration of a bell shook
the windows; six o'clock was striking at St. Médard. Jondrette marked
each stroke by a shake of the head, and when he had counted the last he
snuffed the candle with his fingers. Then he began walking up and down
the room, listened at the door, began walking again, and then listened
once more. "If he comes!" he growled, and then returned to his chair.
He was hardly seated ere the door opened. Mother Jondrette had opened
it, and remained in the passage making a horrible grimace, which one of
the holes in the dark lantern lit up from below.
"Step in, sir," she said.
"Enter, my benefactor!" Jondrette repeated as he hurriedly rose.
M. Leblanc appeared with that air of serenity which rendered him
singularly venerable. He laid four louis on the table.
"Monsieur Fabantou, here is the money for your rent, and something more
to put you a little straight. After that we will see."
"May Heaven repay you, my generous: benefactor!" said Jondrette, and
then rapidly approached his wife.
"Dismiss the coach."
She slipped away, while her husband made an infinitude of bows, and
offered a chair to M. Leblanc. A moment after she returned, and
whispered in his ear, "All right!"
The snow, which had not ceased to fall since morning, was now so thick
that neither the arrival nor the departure of the coach had been heard.
M. Leblanc had seated himself, and Jondrette now took possession of
the chair opposite to him. And now the reader, in order to form an
idea of the scene which is about to be acted, will kindly imagine
the freezing night, the solitudes of the Salpêtrière covered with
snow and white in the moonlight, like an immense winding-sheet, and
the light of the lamps throwing a red glow here and there over these
tragic boulevards and the long rows of black elms: not a passer-by for
a quarter of a league round, and the Maison Gorbeau at its highest
point of silence, horror, and night. In this house, amid this solitude
and darkness, is Jondrette's spacious garret lit by a candle, and in
this den two men are sitting at a table,--M. Leblanc calm, Jondrette
smiling and terrible. Mother Jondrette, the she-wolf, is in a corner,
and behind the partition, Marius, invisible, but not losing a word or
a movement, with his eye on the watch, and pistols in hand. Marius,
however, only felt an emotion of horror, but no fear: he clutched the
butt of the pistol, and said to himself, feeling reassured, "I can
stop the scoundrel whenever I like." He felt that the police were
somewhere in ambush, waiting for the appointed signal, and all ready
to aid. In addition, he hoped that from this violent encounter between
Jondrette and M. Leblanc some light would be thrown on all that he had
an interest in knowing.