The “Spun” Man — Les Misérables

On the afternoon of the 6th of June, on the slope of the right shore a little beyond a bridge, two men, separated by a certain distance, seemed to be watching each other while mutually avoiding each other. The one in advance was trying to get away. The one in the rear was trying to overtake the other. It was like a game of draughts played at a distance and in silence. Neither seemed to be in any hurry. The prey was crafty and on its guard. The one who was seeking to escape had an insignificant mien. The one who was seeking to seize him was rude of aspect. The shore was deserted. From the quay opposite, the man in advance would have appeared like a bristling, tattered being, trembling beneath a ragged blouse, and the other like a classic and official personage, wearing the frock-coat of authority buttoned to the chin. When a man clothed by the state pursues a man in rags, it is in order to make of him a man who is also clothed by the state. Only, the whole question lies in the colour. There is a purple from below. If the other had not seized him as yet, it was in the hope of seeing him lead up to some significant meeting-place. This delicate operation is called spinning.

The buttoned-up man, catching sight of an empty hackney-coach on the quay, made a sign to the driver. The driver understood, turned about, and began to follow the two men at a foot-pace. This was not observed by the slouching personage who was in advance. They approached an inclined plane which permitted cab-drivers to water their horses. It is probable that the man in the blouse had intended to ascend this plane and escape into the trees. To the great surprise of his watcher, he did not mount. He continued to advance along the quay on the shore. His position was becoming critical. There was no other staircase, and they were near the spot where the bank ended in a slender tongue and was lost in the water. There he would inevitably find himself blocked. A heap of rubbish hid the termination of the shore. The man arrived at this little mound and went round it, so that he ceased to be seen. The latter took advantage of this to walk very rapidly. In a few moments he had reached the rubbish heap and passed round it. There he halted in sheer amazement. The man whom he had been pursuing was no longer there. Total eclipse of the man in the blouse.

The fugitive could not have thrown himself into the river without being seen. The man in the buttoned-up coat walked to the extremity of the shore, his fists clenched, his eyes searching. All at once he smote his brow. He had just perceived, at the point where the land came to an end, a large iron grating, low, arched, garnished with a heavy lock. A blackish stream passed under it and discharged into the river. Beyond the bars, a dark and vaulted corridor could be descried. The man folded his arms and stared at the grating with an air of reproach. He shook it. It resisted. It is probable that it had just been opened, although no sound had been heard, and it is certain that it had been closed again. This indicated that the man before whom that door had just opened had not a hook but a key. That is too much. A government key. Then, immediately regaining his composure, he posted himself on the watch behind a heap of rubbish, with the patient rage of a pointer. The hackney-coach halted on the quay above him. The rare passers-by turned their heads to take a momentary glance at these two motionless items in the landscape, the man on the shore, the carriage on the quay.