Essential Novelists - Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo

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СКАЧАТЬ child began again, “My money, sir.”

      Jean Valjean’s eyes remained fixed on the earth.

      “My piece of money!” cried the child, “my white piece! my silver!”

      It seemed as though Jean Valjean did not hear him. The child grasped him by the collar of his blouse and shook him. At the same time he made an effort to displace the big iron-shod shoe which rested on his treasure.

      “I want my piece of money! my piece of forty sous!”

      The child wept. Jean Valjean raised his head. He still remained seated. His eyes were troubled. He gazed at the child, in a sort of amazement, then he stretched out his hand towards his cudgel and cried in a terrible voice, “Who’s there?”

      “I, sir,” replied the child. “Little Gervais! I! Give me back my forty sous, if you please! Take your foot away, sir, if you please!”

      Then irritated, though he was so small, and becoming almost menacing:—

      “Come now, will you take your foot away? Take your foot away, or we’ll see!”

      “Ah! It’s still you!” said Jean Valjean, and rising abruptly to his feet, his foot still resting on the silver piece, he added:—

      “Will you take yourself off!”

      The frightened child looked at him, then began to tremble from head to foot, and after a few moments of stupor he set out, running at the top of his speed, without daring to turn his neck or to utter a cry.

      Nevertheless, lack of breath forced him to halt after a certain distance, and Jean Valjean heard him sobbing, in the midst of his own reverie.

      At the end of a few moments the child had disappeared.

      The sun had set.

      The shadows were descending around Jean Valjean. He had eaten nothing all day; it is probable that he was feverish.

      He had remained standing and had not changed his attitude after the child’s flight. The breath heaved his chest at long and irregular intervals. His gaze, fixed ten or twelve paces in front of him, seemed to be scrutinizing with profound attention the shape of an ancient fragment of blue earthenware which had fallen in the grass. All at once he shivered; he had just begun to feel the chill of evening.

      He settled his cap more firmly on his brow, sought mechanically to cross and button his blouse, advanced a step and stopped to pick up his cudgel.

      At that moment he caught sight of the forty-sou piece, which his foot had half ground into the earth, and which was shining among the pebbles. It was as though he had received a galvanic shock. “What is this?” he muttered between his teeth. He recoiled three paces, then halted, without being able to detach his gaze from the spot which his foot had trodden but an instant before, as though the thing which lay glittering there in the gloom had been an open eye riveted upon him.

      At the expiration of a few moments he darted convulsively towards the silver coin, seized it, and straightened himself up again and began to gaze afar off over the plain, at the same time casting his eyes towards all points of the horizon, as he stood there erect and shivering, like a terrified wild animal which is seeking refuge.

      He saw nothing. Night was falling, the plain was cold and vague, great banks of violet haze were rising in the gleam of the twilight.

      He said, “Ah!” and set out rapidly in the direction in which the child had disappeared. After about thirty paces he paused, looked about him and saw nothing.

      Then he shouted with all his might:—

      “Little Gervais! Little Gervais!”

      He paused and waited.

      There was no reply.

      The landscape was gloomy and deserted. He was encompassed by space. There was nothing around him but an obscurity in which his gaze was lost, and a silence which engulfed his voice.

      An icy north wind was blowing, and imparted to things around him a sort of lugubrious life. The bushes shook their thin little arms with incredible fury. One would have said that they were threatening and pursuing some one.

      He set out on his march again, then he began to run; and from time to time he halted and shouted into that solitude, with a voice which was the most formidable and the most disconsolate that it was possible to hear, “Little Gervais! Little Gervais!”

      Assuredly, if the child had heard him, he would have been alarmed and would have taken good care not to show himself. But the child was no doubt already far away.

      He encountered a priest on horseback. He stepped up to him and said:—

      “Monsieur le Curé, have you seen a child pass?”

      “No,” said the priest.

      “One named Little Gervais?”

      “I have seen no one.”

      He drew two five-franc pieces from his money-bag and handed them to the priest.

      “Monsieur le Curé, this is for your poor people. Monsieur le Curé, he was a little lad, about ten years old, with a marmot, I think, and a hurdy-gurdy. One of those Savoyards, you know?”

      “I have not seen him.”

      “Little Gervais? There are no villages here? Can you tell me?”

      “If he is like what you say, my friend, he is a little stranger. Such persons pass through these parts. We know nothing of them.”

      Jean Valjean seized two more coins of five francs each with violence, and gave them to the priest.

      “For your poor,” he said.

      Then he added, wildly:—

      “Monsieur l’Abbé, have me arrested. I am a thief.”

      The priest put spurs to his horse and fled in haste, much alarmed.

      Jean Valjean set out on a run, in the direction which he had first taken.

      In this way he traversed a tolerably long distance, gazing, calling, shouting, but he met no one. Two or three times he ran across the plain towards something which conveyed to him the effect of a human being reclining or crouching down; it turned out to be nothing but brushwood or rocks nearly on a level with the earth. At length, at a spot where three paths intersected each other, he stopped. The moon had risen. He sent his gaze into the distance and shouted for the last time, “Little Gervais! Little Gervais! Little Gervais!” His shout died away in the mist, without even awakening an echo. He murmured yet once more, “Little Gervais!” but in a feeble and almost inarticulate voice. It was his last effort; his legs gave way abruptly under him, as though an invisible power had suddenly overwhelmed him with the weight of his evil conscience; he fell exhausted, on a large stone, his fists clenched in his hair and his face on his knees, and he cried, “I am a wretch!”

      Then his heart burst, and he began to cry. It was the first time that he had СКАЧАТЬ