________________________________________________
_ Hardly was M. Leblanc seated, when he turned his eyes towards
the pallets, which were empty.
"How is the poor little wounded girl?" he inquired.
"Bad," replied Jondrette with a heart-broken and grateful smile,
"very bad, my worthy sir. Her elder sister has taken her to the
Bourbe to have her hurt dressed. You will see them presently;
they will be back immediately."
"Madame Fabantou seems to me to be better," went on M. Leblanc,
casting his eyes on the eccentric costume of the Jondrette woman,
as she stood between him and the door, as though already guarding
the exit, and gazed at him in an attitude of menace and almost
of combat.
"She is dying," said Jondrette. "But what do you expect, sir!
She has so much courage, that woman has! She's not a woman,
she's an ox."
The Jondrette, touched by his compliment, deprecated it with the
affected airs of a flattered monster.
"You are always too good to me, Monsieur Jondrette!"
"Jondrette!" said M. Leblanc, "I thought your name was Fabantou?"
"Fabantou, alias Jondrette!" replied the husband hurriedly.
"An artistic sobriquet!"
And launching at his wife a shrug of the shoulders which M. Leblanc
did not catch, he continued with an emphatic and caressing inflection
of voice:--
"Ah! we have had a happy life together, this poor darling and I!
What would there be left for us if we had not that? We are so wretched,
my respectable sir! We have arms, but there is no work! We have
the will, no work! I don't know how the government arranges that,
but, on my word of honor, sir, I am not Jacobin, sir, I am not a
bousingot.[30] I don't wish them any evil, but if I were the ministers,
on my most sacred word, things would be different. Here, for instance,
I wanted to have my girls taught the trade of paper-box makers.
You will say to me: `What! a trade?' Yes! A trade! A simple trade!
A bread-winner! What a fall, my benefactor! What a degradation,
when one has been what we have been! Alas! There is nothing
left to us of our days of prosperity! One thing only, a picture,
of which I think a great deal, but which I am willing to part with,
for I must live! Item, one must live!"
[30] A democrat.
While Jondrette thus talked, with an apparent incoherence which
detracted nothing from the thoughtful and sagacious expression
of his physiognomy, Marius raised his eyes, and perceived at
the other end of the room a person whom he had not seen before.
A man had just entered, so softly that the door had not been heard
to turn on its hinges. This man wore a violet knitted vest,
which was old, worn, spotted, cut and gaping at every fold,
wide trousers of cotton velvet, wooden shoes on his feet, no shirt,
had his neck bare, his bare arms tattooed, and his face smeared
with black. He had seated himself in silence on the nearest bed,
and, as he was behind Jondrette, he could only be indistinctly seen.
That sort of magnetic instinct which turns aside the gaze,
caused M. Leblanc to turn round almost at the same moment as Marius.
He could not refrain from a gesture of surprise which did not
escape Jondrette.
"Ah! I see!" exclaimed Jondrette, buttoning up his coat with an air
of complaisance, "you are looking at your overcoat? It fits me!
My faith, but it fits me!"
"Who is that man?" said M. Leblanc.
"Him?" ejaculated Jondrette, "he's a neighbor of mine. Don't pay
any attention to him."
The neighbor was a singular-looking individual. However, manufactories
of chemical products abound in the Faubourg Saint-Marceau. Many
of the workmen might have black faces. Besides this, M. Leblanc's
whole person was expressive of candid and intrepid confidence.
He went on:--
"Excuse me; what were you saying, M. Fabantou?"
"I was telling you, sir, and dear protector," replied Jondrette
placing his elbows on the table and contemplating M. Leblanc with
steady and tender eyes, not unlike the eyes of the boa-constrictor,
"I was telling you, that I have a picture to sell."
A slight sound came from the door. A second man had just entered
and seated himself on the bed, behind Jondrette.
Like the first, his arms were bare, and he had a mask of ink
or lampblack.
Although this man had, literally, glided into the room, he had
not been able to prevent M. Leblanc catching sight of him.
"Don't mind them," said Jondrette, "they are people who belong
in the house. So I was saying, that there remains in my possession
a valuable picture. But stop, sir, take a look at it."
He rose, went to the wall at the foot of which stood the panel which we
have already mentioned, and turned it round, still leaving it supported
against the wall. It really was something which resembled a picture,
and which the candle illuminated, somewhat. Marius could make
nothing out of it, as Jondrette stood between the picture and him;
he only saw a coarse daub, and a sort of principal personage colored
with the harsh crudity of foreign canvasses and screen paintings.
"What is that?" asked M. Leblanc.
Jondrette exclaimed:--
"A painting by a master, a picture of great value, my benefactor!
I am as much attached to it as I am to my two daughters; it recalls
souvenirs to me! But I have told you, and I will not take it back,
that I am so wretched that I will part with it."
Either by chance, or because he had begun to feel a dawning uneasiness,
M. Leblanc's glance returned to the bottom of the room as he
examined the picture.
There were now four men, three seated on the bed, one standing near
the door-post, all four with bare arms and motionless, with faces smeared
with black. One of those on the bed was leaning against the wall,
with closed eyes, and it might have been supposed that he was asleep.
He was old; his white hair contrasting with his blackened face
produced a horrible effect. The other two seemed to be young;
one wore a beard, the other wore his hair long. None of them had
on shoes; those who did not wear socks were barefooted.
Jondrette noticed that M. Leblanc's eye was fixed on these men.
"They are friends. They are neighbors," said he. "Their faces
are black because they work in charcoal. They are chimney-builders.
Don't trouble yourself about them, my benefactor, but buy my picture.
Have pity on my misery. I will not ask you much for it. How much
do you think it is worth?"
"Well," said M. Leblanc, looking Jondrette full in the eye,
and with the manner of a man who is on his guard, "it is some
signboard for a tavern, and is worth about three francs."
Jondrette replied sweetly:--
"Have you your pocket-book with you? I should be satisfied
with a thousand crowns."
M. Leblanc sprang up, placed his back against the wall, and cast
a rapid glance around the room. He had Jondrette on his left,
on the side next the window, and the Jondrette woman and the four men
on his right, on the side next the door. The four men did not stir,
and did not even seem to be looking on.
Jondrette had again begun to speak in a plaintive tone, with so vague an
eye, and so lamentable an intonation, that M. Leblanc might have supposed
that what he had before him was a man who had simply gone mad with misery.
"If you do not buy my picture, my dear benefactor," said Jondrette,
"I shall be left without resources; there will be nothing left
for me but to throw myself into the river. When I think that I
wanted to have my two girls taught the middle-class paper-box trade,
the making of boxes for New Year's gifts! Well! A table with a
board at the end to keep the glasses from falling off is required,
then a special stove is needed, a pot with three compartments
for the different degrees of strength of the paste, according as it
is to be used for wood, paper, or stuff, a paring-knife to cut
the cardboard, a mould to adjust it, a hammer to nail the steels,
pincers, how the devil do I know what all? And all that in order
to earn four sous a day! And you have to work fourteen hours a day!
And each box passes through the workwoman's hands thirteen times!
And you can't wet the paper! And you mustn't spot anything! And you
must keep the paste hot. The devil, I tell you! Four sous a day!
How do you suppose a man is to live?"
As he spoke, Jondrette did not look at M. Leblanc, who was observing him.
M. Leblanc's eye was fixed on Jondrette, and Jondrette's eye was fixed on
the door. Marius' eager attention was transferred from one to the other.
M. Leblanc seemed to be asking himself: "Is this man an idiot?"
Jondrette repeated two or three distinct times, with all manner
of varying inflections of the whining and supplicating order:
"There is nothing left for me but to throw myself into the river!
I went down three steps at the side of the bridge of Austerlitz
the other day for that purpose."
All at once his dull eyes lighted up with a hideous flash;
the little man drew himself up and became terrible, took a step
toward M. Leblanc and cried in a voice of thunder: "That has
nothing to do with the question! Do you know me?" _
Read next: VOLUME III: BOOK EIGHTH - THE WICKED POOR MAN: CHAPTER XX. The Trap
Read previous: VOLUME III: BOOK EIGHTH - THE WICKED POOR MAN: CHAPTER XVIII. Marius' Two Chairs form a Vis-a-Vis
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