At nightfall Javert had posted his men and had gone into ambush himself between the trees of the Rue de la Barrière-des-Gobelins, facing the Gorbeau house. He had begun operations by opening his pockets and dropping into them the two young girls charged with watching the approaches to the den. But he had only caged Azelma. As for Éponine, she was not at her post. She had disappeared, and he had not been able to seize her. Then he had bent his ear to waiting for the signal agreed upon. The comings and goings of the fiacres had greatly agitated him. At last he had grown impatient. Sure that there was a nest there, sure of being in luck, having recognised many of the ruffians who had entered, he had finally decided to go upstairs without waiting for the pistol-shot. He had Marius' pass-key. He had arrived just in the nick of time. The terrified ruffians flung themselves on the arms they had abandoned in the corners at the moment of flight. In less than a second these seven men had grouped themselves in an attitude of defence. Thénardier had his knife in his fist. The Thénardier woman snatched up an enormous paving-stone which lay in the angle of the window and served her daughters as an ottoman. Javert put on his hat again and advanced a couple of paces into the room, arms folded, his cane under one arm, his sword in its sheath. Halt there, said he. You shall not go out by the window. You shall go through the door. It's less unhealthy. There are seven of you, there are fifteen of us.
A pistol was put in Thénardier's hand. It's Javert. I don't dare fire at that man. Do you dare? Parbleu. Well, then, fire. Thénardier aimed. Javert, only three paces from him, stared intently and contented himself with saying: Come now, don't fire. You'll miss fire. Thénardier pulled the trigger. The pistol missed fire. Didn't I tell you so. Bigrenaille flung his bludgeon at Javert's feet. You're the emperor of the fiends. I surrender. And you? So do we. That's right, that's good, I said so, you are nice fellows. I only ask one thing, said Bigrenaille, that I may not be denied tobacco while I am in confinement. Granted. Come in now. A squad rushed in at his summons. They pinioned the ruffians. The den filled with shadows. Handcuff them all. Then a voice which was not the voice of a man, but of which no one would ever have said it is a woman's voice, cried: Come on! The Thénardier woman had entrenched herself in one of the angles of the window. She had thrown off her shawl but retained her bonnet. Her husband was crouching behind her, almost hidden under the discarded shawl, and she was shielding him with her body, the paving-stone elevated above her head with the gesture of a giantess on the point of hurling a rock. Beware. The policemen recoiled. The cowards, she muttered, looking at the men who had allowed themselves to be pinioned. Javert smiled and advanced across the open space. Don't come near me, or I'll crush you. What a grenadier. You've got a beard like a man, mother, but I have claws like a woman. She hurled the paving-stone at his head. He ducked. The stone passed over him, struck the wall, knocked off a huge piece of plastering, and, rebounding from angle to angle across the hovel, now luckily almost empty, rested at Javert's feet. At the same moment one of his big hands descended on the woman's shoulder, the other on the husband's head. The handcuffs. In a few seconds the order had been executed. My daughters, she exclaimed, weeping. They are in the jug, said Javert.
The agents shook the drunken man asleep behind the door. Is it all over, Jondrette? Yes, replied Javert. He told the pinioned men to keep on their masks, and passed them in review as if at a parade, naming them as he went. At that moment he caught sight of the ruffians' prisoner, who, ever since the entrance of the police, had not uttered a word, and had held his head down. Untie the gentleman, and let no one go out. That said, he seated himself with sovereign dignity before the table, where the candle and the writing-materials still remained, drew a stamped paper from his pocket, and began to prepare his report. When he had written the first lines, which are formulas that never vary, he raised his eyes. Let the gentleman whom these gentlemen bound step forward. Well, where is he? The prisoner of the ruffians, Leblanc, Urbain Fabre, the father of Ursule or the Lark, had disappeared. The door was guarded, but the window was not. As soon as he had found himself released from his bonds, and while Javert was drawing up his report, he had taken advantage of confusion, the crowd, the darkness, and of a moment when the general attention was diverted from him, to dash out of the window. An agent sprang to the opening and looked out. He saw no one outside. The rope ladder was still shaking. The devil, ejaculated Javert between his teeth, he must have been the most valuable of the lot.
