Madame Thenardier has allowed her husband to have his own way, as was her wont. She has expected great results. When the man and Cosette have taken their departure, Thenardier allows a full quarter of an hour to elapse, then takes her aside and shows her the fifteen hundred francs. Is that all? said she. It is the first time since they have set up housekeeping that she has dared to criticise one of the master's acts. The blow tells. You are right, in sooth, said he. I am a fool. Give me my hat. He folds up the three bank-bills, thrusts them into his pocket, and runs out in all haste, but he makes a mistake and turns to the right first. Some neighbours put him on the track again. The Lark and the man have been seen going in the direction of Livry. He follows these hints, walking with great strides, and talking to himself. That man is evidently a million dressed in yellow, and I am an animal. First he gave twenty sous, then five francs, then fifty francs, then fifteen hundred francs, all with equal readiness. He would have given fifteen thousand francs. But I shall overtake him. And then, that bundle of clothes prepared beforehand for the child. All that was singular. Many mysteries lay concealed under it. One does not let mysteries out of one's hand when one has once grasped them. The secrets of the wealthy are sponges of gold. One must know how to subject them to pressure.
When one leaves Montfermeil and reaches the turn which the road takes that runs to Livry, the road can be seen stretching out across the plateau. He looks as far as his vision reaches and sees nothing. He has wasted time. Some passers-by inform him that the man and child have gone towards the forest in the direction of Gagny. He hastens in that direction. All at once he pauses and deals himself a blow on his forehead. I ought to have taken my gun, said he to himself. Thenardier is one of those double natures which sometimes pass through our midst without our being aware of the fact. In a calm situation he possesses all that is required to make what people have agreed to call an honest trader. Certain shocks arriving to bring his under-nature to the surface, he has all the requisites for a blackguard. He is a shopkeeper in whom there is some taint of the monster. After a momentary hesitation he thinks they will have time to make their escape, and he pursues his road with the sagacity of a fox scenting a covey of partridges. When he has passed the ponds and reached the turf alley that covers the arch of the ancient aqueduct of the Abbey of Chelles, he catches sight, over the top of the brushwood, of the hat on which he has already erected so many conjectures. The child cannot be seen on account of her small size, but the head of her doll is visible. Thenardier is not mistaken. The man is sitting there, letting Cosette get somewhat rested. The inn-keeper walks round the brushwood and presents himself abruptly. Pardon, excuse me, sir, he said, quite breathless, but here are your fifteen hundred francs. So saying, he hands the stranger the three bank-bills. The man raises his eyes. What is the meaning of this? It means, sir, that I shall take back Cosette. Cosette shudders, and presses close to the old man. He replies, gazing to the very bottom of Thenardier's eyes, and enunciating every syllable distinctly: You are go-ing to take back Co-sette? Yes, sir. He has not the right to give her. She belongs to her mother. He can only resign her to her mother, or to the person who shall bring a writing signed by her mother. The man, without making any reply, fumbles in his pocket. Thenardier beholds the pocketbook of bank-bills once more. Good, thought he. Let us hold firm. He is going to bribe me. Before opening the pocketbook, the traveller casts a glance about him. The spot is absolutely deserted. He draws from it, not the handful of bills which Thenardier expected, but a simple little paper, which he unfolds and presents fully open to the inn-keeper. You are right. Read. Thenardier takes the paper and reads a letter from Fantine's native town, dated the twenty-fifth of March, 1823. He will deliver Cosette to this person. He will be paid for all the little things. Fantine. You know that signature? resumed the man. It certainly is Fantine's signature. Thenardier recognises it. There is no reply to make. He experiences two violent vexations: the vexation of renouncing the bribery which he had hoped for, and the vexation of being beaten. The man adds that he may keep this paper as his receipt. Thenardier retreats in tolerably good order. This signature is fairly well imitated, he growls. However, let it go. Then he essays a desperate effort. It is well, sir, since you are the person, but I must be paid for all those little things. A great deal is owing to me. The man rises, filliping the dust from his threadbare sleeve. In January last the mother reckoned that she owed one hundred and twenty francs. In February Thenardier sent a bill of five hundred. He received three hundred at the end of February and three hundred at the beginning of March. Since then nine months have elapsed, at fifteen francs a month, which makes one hundred and thirty-five francs. He had received one hundred francs too much. That makes thirty-five still owing. I have just given you fifteen hundred francs. Thenardier's sensations are those of the wolf at the moment when he feels himself nipped and seized by the steel jaw of the trap.
Who is this devil of a man? he thought. He does what the wolf does. He shakes himself. Audacity has succeeded with him once. He casts aside all respectful ceremony and says he shall take back Cosette if he is not given a thousand crowns. The stranger said tranquilly: Come, Cosette. He takes Cosette by his left hand, and with his right he picks up his cudgel. Thenardier notes the enormous size of the cudgel and the solitude of the spot. The man plunges into the forest with the child, leaving the inn-keeper motionless and speechless. Thenardier scrutinizes the huge shoulders and the great fists, then his own feeble arms and thin hands. I really must have been exceedingly stupid not to have thought to bring my gun, he said to himself, since I was going hunting. He does not give up. He wants to know where the man is going, and he sets out to follow them at a distance. Two things are left on his hands: an irony in the shape of the paper signed Fantine, and a consolation, the fifteen hundred francs. The man leads Cosette off in the direction of Livry and Bondy. He walks slowly, with drooping head, in an attitude of reflection and sadness. The winter has thinned out the forest, so that Thenardier does not lose them from sight. The man turns round from time to time. All at once he catches sight of Thenardier. He plunges suddenly into the brushwood with Cosette. The deuce, said Thenardier, and he redoubles his pace. The thickness of the undergrowth forces him to draw nearer. When the man has reached the densest part of the thicket, he wheels round. Thenardier cannot prevent the man seeing him. The man casts upon him an uneasy glance, then elevates his head and continues his course. Thus they continue for two or three hundred paces. All at once the man turns round once more. This time he gazes at him with so sombre an air that Thenardier decides that it is useless to proceed further. Thenardier retraced his steps.
