Essential Novelists - Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo

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СКАЧАТЬ the Labarre of the Cross of Colbas, at a distance of five and twenty leagues. It was said of him in the town, “That is the cousin of the man of Grenoble.”

      The man bent his steps towards this inn, which was the best in the country-side. He entered the kitchen, which opened on a level with the street. All the stoves were lighted; a huge fire blazed gayly in the fireplace. The host, who was also the chief cook, was going from one stew-pan to another, very busily superintending an excellent dinner designed for the wagoners, whose loud talking, conversation, and laughter were audible from an adjoining apartment. Any one who has travelled knows that there is no one who indulges in better cheer than wagoners. A fat marmot, flanked by white partridges and heather-cocks, was turning on a long spit before the fire; on the stove, two huge carps from Lake Lauzet and a trout from Lake Alloz were cooking.

      The host, hearing the door open and seeing a newcomer enter, said, without raising his eyes from his stoves:—

      “What do you wish, sir?”

      “Food and lodging,” said the man.

      “Nothing easier,” replied the host. At that moment he turned his head, took in the traveller’s appearance with a single glance, and added, “By paying for it.”

      The man drew a large leather purse from the pocket of his blouse, and answered, “I have money.”

      “In that case, we are at your service,” said the host.

      The man put his purse back in his pocket, removed his knapsack from his back, put it on the ground near the door, retained his stick in his hand, and seated himself on a low stool close to the fire. D—— is in the mountains. The evenings are cold there in October.

      But as the host went back and forth, he scrutinized the traveller.

      “Will dinner be ready soon?” said the man.

      “Immediately,” replied the landlord.

      While the newcomer was warming himself before the fire, with his back turned, the worthy host, Jacquin Labarre, drew a pencil from his pocket, then tore off the corner of an old newspaper which was lying on a small table near the window. On the white margin he wrote a line or two, folded it without sealing, and then intrusted this scrap of paper to a child who seemed to serve him in the capacity both of scullion and lackey. The landlord whispered a word in the scullion’s ear, and the child set off on a run in the direction of the town-hall.

      The traveller saw nothing of all this.

      Once more he inquired, “Will dinner be ready soon?”

      “Immediately,” responded the host.

      The child returned. He brought back the paper. The host unfolded it eagerly, like a person who is expecting a reply. He seemed to read it attentively, then tossed his head, and remained thoughtful for a moment. Then he took a step in the direction of the traveller, who appeared to be immersed in reflections which were not very serene.

      “I cannot receive you, sir,” said he.

      The man half rose.

      “What! Are you afraid that I will not pay you? Do you want me to pay you in advance? I have money, I tell you.”

      “It is not that.”

      “What then?”

      “You have money—”

      “Yes,” said the man.

      “And I,” said the host, “have no room.”

      The man resumed tranquilly, “Put me in the stable.”

      “I cannot.”

      “Why?”

      “The horses take up all the space.”

      “Very well!” retorted the man; “a corner of the loft then, a truss of straw. We will see about that after dinner.”

      “I cannot give you any dinner.”

      This declaration, made in a measured but firm tone, struck the stranger as grave. He rose.

      “Ah! bah! But I am dying of hunger. I have been walking since sunrise. I have travelled twelve leagues. I pay. I wish to eat.”

      “I have nothing,” said the landlord.

      The man burst out laughing, and turned towards the fireplace and the stoves: “Nothing! and all that?”

      “All that is engaged.”

      “By whom?”

      “By messieurs the wagoners.”

      “How many are there of them?”

      “Twelve.”

      “There is enough food there for twenty.”

      “They have engaged the whole of it and paid for it in advance.”

      The man seated himself again, and said, without raising his voice, “I am at an inn; I am hungry, and I shall remain.”

      Then the host bent down to his ear, and said in a tone which made him start, “Go away!”

      At that moment the traveller was bending forward and thrusting some brands into the fire with the iron-shod tip of his staff; he turned quickly round, and as he opened his mouth to reply, the host gazed steadily at him and added, still in a low voice: “Stop! there’s enough of that sort of talk. Do you want me to tell you your name? Your name is Jean Valjean. Now do you want me to tell you who you are? When I saw you come in I suspected something; I sent to the town-hall, and this was the reply that was sent to me. Can you read?”

      So saying, he held out to the stranger, fully unfolded, the paper which had just travelled from the inn to the town-hall, and from the town-hall to the inn. The man cast a glance upon it. The landlord resumed after a pause.

      “I am in the habit of being polite to every one. Go away!”

      The man dropped his head, picked up the knapsack which he had deposited on the ground, and took his departure.

      He chose the principal street. He walked straight on at a venture, keeping close to the houses like a sad and humiliated man. He did not turn round a single time. Had he done so, he would have seen the host of the Cross of Colbas standing on his threshold, surrounded by all the guests of his inn, and all the passers-by in the street, talking vivaciously, and pointing him out with his finger; and, from the glances of terror and distrust cast by the group, he might have divined that his arrival would speedily become an event for the whole town.

      He saw nothing of all this. People who are crushed do not look behind them. They know but too well the evil fate which follows them.

      Thus he proceeded for some time, walking on without ceasing, traversing at random streets of which he knew nothing, forgetful of his fatigue, as is often the case when a man is sad. All at once he felt the pangs of hunger sharply. Night was drawing near. He glanced about him, СКАЧАТЬ