Marius, dreamer as he was, was firm and energetic by nature. His habits of solitary meditation had developed in him sympathy and compassion, and had perhaps diminished the faculty for irritation, but had left intact the power of waxing indignant. He had the kindliness of a brahmin and the severity of a judge. He took pity upon a toad, but he crushed a viper. Now it was into a hole of vipers that his glance had just been directed. It was a nest of monsters that he had beneath his eyes. These wretches must be stamped upon, said he. Not one of the enigmas which he had hoped to see solved had been elucidated. On the contrary, all of them had been rendered more dense. He knew nothing more about the beautiful maiden of the Luxembourg and the man whom he called Leblanc, except that Jondrette was acquainted with them. Athwart the mysterious words, the only thing of which he caught a distinct glimpse was that an ambush was in course of preparation, a dark but terrible trap. Both of them were incurring great danger, she probably, her father certainly. They must be saved. The hideous plots must be thwarted, and the web of these spiders broken.
He scanned the female Jondrette for a moment. She had pulled an old sheet-iron stove from a corner and was rummaging among the old heap of iron. He descended from the commode as softly as possible. Amid his terror, he experienced a sort of joy at the idea that it might be granted to him to render a service to the one whom he loved. But how was it to be done? He did not know their address. They had reappeared for an instant and had then plunged back into the immense depths of Paris. Should he wait for Leblanc at the door that evening at six, and warn him of the trap? But Jondrette and his men would see him on the watch. The spot was lonely. They were stronger than he. They would seize him or get him away, and the man whom Marius was anxious to save would be lost. One o'clock had just struck. The trap was to be sprung at six. Marius had five hours before him. There was but one thing to be done. He put on his decent coat, knotted a silk handkerchief round his neck, took his hat, and went out, without making any more noise than if he had been treading on moss with bare feet.
Once outside, he made for the Rue du Petit-Banquier. He was walking slowly, the snow deadening his steps, when all at once he heard voices talking very close by. The street was deserted. It was broad daylight, and yet he distinctly heard voices. He glanced over the low wall. There sat two men, flat on the snow, with their backs against the wall, talking in subdued tones. One was a bearded man in a blouse and a fez. The other was a long-haired individual in rags, with snow lodged in his hair. With the assistance of Patron-Minette, it can't fail. It's as good as a warrant for each one, of five hundred balls, and the worst that can happen is five years, six years, ten years at the most. Father What's-his-name's team will be already harnessed. Then they began to discuss a melodrama they had seen at the Gaîté. Marius went his way. Those words, so strangely hidden behind that wall, could not but bear some relation to Jondrette's projects. That must be the affair. He directed his course towards the faubourg Saint-Marceau and asked at the first shop where he could find a commissary of police. He was directed to Rue de Pontoise, number 14. As he passed a baker's shop, he bought a two-penny roll and ate it, foreseeing that he should not dine. On the way he rendered justice to Providence. Had he not given his five francs to the Jondrette girl in the morning, he would have followed the fiacre, remained ignorant of everything, and there would have been no obstacle to the trap. Leblanc would have been lost, and his daughter with him, no doubt.
Coming Up in Chapter 214
On arriving at number 14, Rue de Pontoise, he ascended to the first floor and inquired for the commissary of police. The commissary is not here, said a clerk, but there is an inspector who takes his place. Would you like to speak to him? Are you in haste?
