The Perspicacity of Master Scaufflaire — Les Misérables

From the town-hall he takes the short street past the parsonage. One passer-by sees the mayor halt, turn back, lift the iron knocker, then set it down gently and go on with a haste that was not there before. Master Scaufflaire is stitching a harness. Madeleine wants a horse that can travel twenty leagues in a day and set out again on the same road tomorrow if needed. He shows the pencilled figures: five, six, eight and a half. Nineteen and a half; as well say twenty. The Fleming has a little white Boulonnais that will not be ridden and will do the twenty at a full trot in less than eight hours. Conditions: half an hour for oats, someone by to stop the stable boy drinking them; the mayor drives alone, without baggage; thirty francs a day, rest days paid; a light uncovered tilbury, not a cabriolet. Winter, cold, rain: Madeleine does not answer. The tilbury and the horse will be at his door tomorrow at half-past four. Where is the mayor going? Are your horse's forelegs good? Do not forget half-past four.

The mayor returns two minutes later, still impassive. He wants a guarantee: five hundred francs on the table, to be given back at his return. Scaufflaire regrets he did not say a thousand; the pair is worth a hundred crowns. The wife says Paris. The husband does not believe it. The forgotten paper lies on the chimney-piece. Five, six, eight and a half: Hesdin, Saint-Pol, Arras. He is going to Arras.

Madeleine takes the longest way home, as if the parsonage door were a temptation. The portress sees the light out at half-past eight and asks if the mayor is ill. Toward midnight the cashier under him hears a step, a cupboard, furniture moved. A reddish gleam on the opposite wall; the window is wide open in the cold, as if a fire had been lighted. An hour or two later the same step is still passing, the reflection pale and peaceful now, like a lamp. The window is still open. This is what had taken place in Madeleine's room.