The strides of a lame man are like the ogling glances of a one-eyed man; they do not reach their goal very promptly. Moreover, Fauchelevent was in a dilemma. He took nearly a quarter of an hour to return to his cottage in the garden. Cosette had waked up. Jean Valjean had placed her near the fire. At the moment when Fauchelevent entered, Jean Valjean was pointing out to her the vintner's basket on the wall, and saying to her, "Listen attentively to me, my little Cosette. We must go away from this house, but we shall return to it, and we shall be very happy here. The good man who lives here is going to carry you off on his back in that. You will wait for me at a lady's house. I shall come to fetch you. Obey, and say nothing, above all things, unless you want Madame Thenardier to get you again!"
Cosette nodded gravely.
Jean Valjean turned round at the noise made by Fauchelevent opening the door.
"Well?"
"Everything is arranged, and nothing is," said Fauchelevent. "I have permission to bring you in; but before bringing you in you must be got out. That's where the difficulty lies. It is easy enough with the child."
"You will carry her out?"
"And she will hold her tongue?"
"I answer for that."
"But you, Father Madeleine?"
And, after a silence, fraught with anxiety, Fauchelevent exclaimed:--
"Why, get out as you came in!"
Jean Valjean, as in the first instance, contented himself with saying, "Impossible."
Fauchelevent grumbled, more to himself than to Jean Valjean:--
"There is another thing which bothers me. I have said that I would put earth in it. When I come to think it over, the earth instead of the corpse will not seem like the real thing, it won't do, it will get displaced, it will move about. The men will bear it. You understand, Father Madeleine, the government will notice it."
Jean Valjean stared him straight in the eye and thought that he was raving.
Fauchelevent went on:--
"How the de--uce are you going to get out? It must all be done by to-morrow morning. It is to-morrow that I am to bring you in. The prioress expects you."
Then he explained to Jean Valjean that this was his recompense for a service which he, Fauchelevent, was to render to the community. That it fell among his duties to take part in their burials, that he nailed up the coffins and helped the grave-digger at the cemetery. That the nun who had died that morning had requested to be buried in the coffin which had served her for a bed, and interred in the vault under the altar of the chapel. That the police regulations forbade this, but that she was one of those dead to whom nothing is refused. That the prioress and the vocal mothers intended to fulfil the wish of the deceased. That it was so much the worse for the government. That he, Fauchelevent, was to nail up the coffin in the cell, raise the stone in the chapel, and lower the corpse into the vault. And that, by way of thanks, the prioress was to admit his brother to the house as a gardener, and his niece as a pupil. That his brother was M. Madeleine, and that his niece was Cosette. That the prioress had told him to bring his brother on the following evening, after the counterfeit interment in the cemetery. But that he could not bring M. Madeleine in from the outside if M. Madeleine was not outside. That that was the first problem. And then, that there was another: the empty coffin."
"What is that empty coffin?" asked Jean Valjean.
Fauchelevent replied:--
"The coffin of the administration."
"What coffin? What administration?"
"A nun dies. The municipal doctor comes and says, `A nun has died.' The government sends a coffin. The next day it sends a hearse and undertaker's men to get the coffin and carry it to the cemetery. The undertaker's men will come and lift the coffin; there will be nothing in it."
"Put something in it."
"A corpse? I have none."
"No."
"What then?"
"A living person."
"What person?"
"Me!" said Jean Valjean.
Fauchelevent, who was seated, sprang up as though a bomb had burst under his chair.
"You!"
"Why not?"
Jean Valjean gave way to one of those rare smiles which lighted up his face like a FLASH from heaven in the winter.
"You know, Fauchelevent, what you have said: `Mother Crucifixion is dead.' and I add: `and Father Madeleine is buried.'
"Ah! good, you can laugh, you are not speaking seriously."
"Very seriously, I must get out of this place."
"Certainly."
"l have told you to find a basket, and a cover for me also,"
"Well?"
"The basket will be of pine, and the cover a black cloth."
"In the first place, it will be a white cloth. Nuns are buried in white."
"Let it be a white cloth, then."
"You are not like other men, Father Madeleine."
To behold such devices, which are nothing else than the savage and daring inventions of the galleys, spring forth from the peaceable things which surrounded him, and mingle with what he called the "petty course of life in the convent," caused Fauchelevent as much amazement as a gull fishing in the gutter of the Rue Saint-Denis would inspire in a passer-by.
Jean Valjean went on:--
"The problem is to get out of here without being seen. This offers the means. But give me some information, in the first place. How is it managed? Where is this coffin?"
"The empty one?"
"Yes."
"Down stairs, in what is called the dead-room. It stands on two trestles, under the pall."
"How long is the coffin?"
"Six feet."
"What is this dead-room?"
"It is a chamber on the ground floor which has a grated window opening on the garden, which is closed on the outside by a shutter, and two doors; one leads into the convent, the other into the church."
"What church?"
"The church in the street, the church which any one can enter."
"Have you the keys to those two doors?"
"No; I have the key to the door which communicates with the convent; the porter has the key to the door which communicates with the church."
"When does the porter open that door?"
"Only to allow the undertaker's men to enter, when they come to get the coffin. When the coffin has been taken out, the door is closed again."
"Who nails up the coffin?"
"I do."
"Who spreads the pall over it?"
"I do."
"Are you alone?"
"Not another man, except the police doctor, can enter the dead-room. That is even written on the wall."
"Could you hide me in that room to-night when every one is asleep?"
"No. But I could hide you in a small, dark nook which opens on the dead-room, where I keep my tools to use for burials, and of which I have the key."
"At what time will the hearse come for the coffin to-morrow?"
"About three o'clock in the afternoon. The burial will take place at the Vaugirard cemetery a little before nightfall. It is not very near."
"I will remain concealed in your tool-closet all night and all the morning. And how about fohought Fauchelevent. "In that case, it would be terrible."
缅 ?find air where there is none, to economize his breath for hours, to know how to stifle without dying-- this was one of Jean Valjean's gloomy talents.
Moreover, a coffin containing a living being,--that convict's expedient,-- is also an imperial expedient. If we are to credit the monk Austin Castillejo, this was the means employed by Charles the Fifth, desirous of seeing the Plombes for the last time after his abdication.
He had her brought into and carried out of the monastery of Saint-Yuste in this manner.
Fauchelevent, who had recovered himself a little, exclaimed:--
"But how will you manage to breathe?"
"I will breathe."
"In that box! The mere thought of it suffocates me."
"You surely must have a gimlet, you will make a few holes here and there, around my mouth, and you will nail the top plank on loosely."
"Good! And what if you should happen to cough or to sneeze?"
"A man who is making his escape does not cough or sneeze."
And Jean Valjean added:--
"Father Fauchelevent, we must come to a decision: I must either be caught here, or accept this escape through the hearse."
Every one has noticed the taste which cats have for pausing and lounging between the two leaves of a half-shut door. Who is there who has not said to a cat, "Do come in!" There are men who, when an incident stands half-open before them, have the same tendency to halt in indecision between two resolutions, at the risk of getting crushed through the abrupt closing of the adventure by fate. The over-prudent, cats as they are, and because they are cats, sometimes incur more danger than the audacious. Fauchelevent was of this hesitating nature. But Jean Valjean's coolness prevailed over him in spite of himself. He grumbled:--
"Well, since there is no other means."
Jean Valjean resumed:--
"The only thing which troubles me is what will take place at the cemetery."
"That is the very point that is not troublesome," exclaimed Fauchelevent. "If you are sure of coming out of the coffin all right, I am sure of getting you out of the grave. The grave-digger is a drunkard, and a friend of mine. He is Father Mestienne. An old fellow of the old school. The grave-digger puts the corpses in the grave, and I put the grave-digger in my pocket. I will tell you what will take place. They will arrive a little before dusk, three-quarters of an hour before the gates of the cemetery are closed. The hearse will drive directly up to the grave. I shall follow; that is my business. I shall have a hammer, a chisel, and some pincers in my pocket. The hearse halts, the undertaker's men knot a rope around your coffin and lower you down. The priest says the prayers, makes the sign of the cross, sprinkles the holy water, and takes his departure. I am left alone with Father Mestienne. He is my friend, I tell you. One of two things will happen, he will either be sober, or he will not be sober. If he is not drunk, I shall say to him: `Come and drink a bout while the Bon Coing [the Good Quince] is open.' I carry him off, I get him drunk,-- it does not take long to make Father Mestienne drunk, he always has the beginning of it about him,--I lay him under the table, I take his card, so that I can get into the cemetery again, and I return without him. Then you have no longer any one but me to deal with. If he is drunk, I shall say to him: `Be off; I will do your work for you.' Off he goes, and I drag you out of the hole."
Jean Valjean held out his hand, and Fauchelevent precipitated himself upon it with the touching effusion of a peasant.
"That is settled, Father Fauchelevent. All will go well."
"Provided nothing goes wrong," thought Fauchelevent. "In that case, it would be terrible."
四 冉阿让竟好象读过奥斯丹
加斯迪莱约的作品
瘸子走路，就象独眼人送秋波，都不能直截了当地达到目的地。况且割风又正在心情烦乱的时候。他几乎花了一刻钟才回到园里的破屋里。珂赛特已经醒了。冉阿让让她坐在火旁。割风进屋子时，冉阿让正把那园丁挂在墙上的背箩指给她看并且说：
“好好听我说，我的小珂赛特。我们必须离开这个地方，但是我们要回来的，这样我们就能很好地住在这里了。这里的那位老大爷会让你待在那东西里，把你带走。你到一位太太家里去等我。我会去找你的。最要紧的是，要是你不想让德纳第大娘又把你抓回去，你就得乖乖地听我的话，什么也不能说啊！”
珂赛特郑重地点了点头。
冉阿让听到割风推门的声音，回转头去。
“怎样了？”
“一切都安排好了，一点也没有安排好，”割风说，“我得到允许，让您进来，但是在带您进来以前，得先带您出去。伤脑筋的就是这一点。至于这小姑娘，倒好办。”
“您答应背她出去吗？”
“她答应不出声吗？”
“我担保。”
“可是您呢，马德兰爷爷？”
经过一阵焦急的沉寂以后，割风喊道：
“从您进来的那条路出去，不就完了！”
冉阿让，和先头一样，只回答了一声：“不可能。”
割风嘴里叽里咕噜，却并非在和冉阿让谈话，而是在和他自己谈话：
“还有一件事，使我心里老嘀咕。我说过，放些泥土在里面。可是我想，那里装上泥，不会象是装个人，那样不成，那玩意儿会跑，会动。别人会看出毛病来的。您懂吗，马德兰爷爷，政府会察觉出来的。”
冉阿让直着双眼，老望他，以为他在说胡话。
割风接着又说：
“难道您就出不了这……鬼门关？问题是：一切都得在明天办妥！我得在明天领您进来。院长等着您。”
这时，他向冉阿让一一说明，这是由于他，割风，要替修院办件事而得来的报酬；办理丧事也是他应干的活，他得把棺材钉好，还得到公墓去帮那埋葬工人。早晨死去的那个修女曾要求把她装殓在她平日拿来当床用的棺材里，并且要把她埋在圣坛祭台下的地窖里，这种做法是警务条例所不许可的，而死者却又是那样一个不容违拗的修女。院长和参议嬷嬷们都决定要了死者的愿，政府不政府，不管它了；他，割风，要到那矮屋子里去钉上棺材，到圣坛里去旋开石板，还得把那死人送到地窖下面去。为了酬谢他，院长同意让他的兄弟到修院里来当园丁，也让他的侄女来寄读，他的兄弟便是马德兰先生，侄女便是珂赛特。院长说过，要他在明天傍晚时，等到公墓里的假掩埋办妥后，把他的兄弟带来。可是他不能把马德兰先生从外面带进来，要是马德兰先生不先在外面的话。这是首先遇到的困难，还有一层困难，便是那口空棺材。
“什么空棺材？”冉阿让问。
割风回答说：
“管理机关的棺材。”
“什么棺材？什么管理机关。”
“死了一个修女。市政府的医生来了并且说：‘有个修女死了。’政府便送来一口棺材。第二天，再派一辆丧车和几个殡仪执事来把那棺材抬到公墓去。殡仪执事们来了，抬起那棺材，里面却没有东西。”
“放点东西在里面。”
“放个死人？我找不出。”
“不是。”
“那么，什么呢？”
“放个活人。”
“什么活人？”
“我。”冉阿让说。
割风，原是坐着的，他猛地站起，好象椅子下面响了一个爆竹。
“您！”
“为什么不呢？”
冉阿让露出一种少见的笑容，正如冬季里天空中的那种微光。
“您知道，割风，您先头说过：受难嬷嬷死了，我补上了一句说，马德兰先生埋了。事情就是这样。”
“啊，好，您是在开玩笑。您不是在说正经话。”
“绝对正经。我不是得先从这里出去吗？”
“当然。”
“我早和您说过，要您替我找一个背箩和一块油布。”
“那又怎样呢？”
“来个杉木背箩和一块黑布就可以了。”
“首先，只有白布。葬修女，全用白的。”
“白布也成。”
“您这个人，不和旁人一样，马德兰爷爷。”
这种幻想也只不过是苦役牢里的一种横蛮大胆的发明，割风是一向被圈在平静的事物中的，他平日见到的，按照他的说法，“只是修院里的一些磨磨蹭蹭的事儿”，现在忽然有这种奇想出现在他那宁静的环境里，而且要和修院牵涉在一起，他当时的惊骇竟可和一个看见一只海鸥在圣德尼街边溪流里捕鱼的行人的神情相比。
冉阿让接着说：
“问题是要从这里偷跑出去。现在这就是个办法。但是您得先把一切情形告诉我。事情怎样进行？棺材在哪里？”
“空的那口吗？”
“对。”
“在下面，所谓的太平间里。放在两个木架上，上面盖了一块盖棺布。”
“那棺材有多长？”
“六尺。”
“太平间是怎样的？”
“那是底层的一间屋子，有一扇窗对着园子，窗口有铁条，窗板从外面开关，还有两扇门：一扇通修院，一扇通礼拜堂。”
“什么礼拜堂？”
“街上的礼拜堂，大众的礼拜堂。”
“您有那两扇门的钥匙吗？”
“没有。我只有通修院那扇门的钥匙，通礼拜堂那扇门的钥匙在门房手里。”
“什么时候门房才开那扇门呢？”
“只是在殡仪执事要进去抬棺材的时候，他才开那扇门。
棺材出去了，门又得关上。”
“谁钉棺材？”
“我钉。”
“谁盖那块布？”
“我盖。”
“就您一个人吗？”
“除了警署的医生以外，任何男人都不许进太平间。那是写好在墙上的。”
“今天晚上，等到修院里大家全睡了，您能不能把我蒙在那屋子里？”
“不成。但是我可以把您藏在一间通太平间的小黑屋子里，那是我放埋葬工具的地方，归我管，钥匙也在我这里。”
“灵车在明天几点钟来取棺材？”
“下午三点左右。在伏吉拉尔公墓下葬，在天快黑的时候，那地方不很近。”
“我就在您放工具的小屋子里躲一整夜和整个半天。可是吃的东西呢？我会饿的。”
“吃的，我送来给您。”
“到两点钟时，您来把我钉在棺材里。”
割风朝后退了一步，把两只手上的骨节捏得嘎嘎响。
“这，我做不到。”
“这算得了什么！拿一个铁锈，把几个钉子钉到木板里面去！”
在割风看来好象是荒唐的事，我们再说一遍，在冉阿让的眼里，却是平凡的。冉阿让已走过比这更险的险路。凡是当过囚犯的人都有一套艺术，知道怎样按照逃生的路的口径来缩小自己的身体。囚犯要逃命，正如病人去求医，是生是死，在所不顾。逃命也就是医病。为了医好病，有什么不能接受的呢？让别人把自己钉在一个匣子里，当作一个包裹运出去，在盒子里慢慢地争取生命，在没有空气的地方找空气，在连续几个钟头里节约自己的呼吸，知道闭气而不死，这是冉阿让多种惨痛的才能之一。
其实，棺材里藏活人，苦役犯所采用的这种救急办法，也是帝王所采用的。假使奥斯丹·加斯迪莱约的记载可靠的话，查理五世①在逊位以后，想和卜隆白作最后一次会晤时，便用这种方法把她抬进圣茹斯特修院，继又把她抬出去的。
①查理五世是十六世纪德意志皇帝，逊位后出家修道。
割风，稍稍镇静以后，大声问道：
“可是您怎么能呼吸呢？”
“我会呼吸的。”
“在那盒子里！我，只要想想，已经吐不出气来了。”
“您一定有一个螺丝锥，您在靠近嘴的地方，随便锥几个小孔，上面的木板，也不要钉得太紧。”
“好！万一您要咳嗽或打喷嚏呢？”
“逃命的人从来不咳嗽，也不打喷嚏。”
冉阿让又加了一句：
“割风爷，得拿定主意了：或是在这里等人家来捉，或是接受由灵车带出去的办法。”
大家都见过，猫儿有一种癖性，它爱在半掩着的门边徘徊不前。谁也对猫儿说：“进来！”有些人在半开着的机会面前也一样会有停滞在两种决策中左思右想的表现，冒着让自己被压在陡然截断生路的命运下面。那些过于谨慎的人，浑身是猫性，并且正因为他们是猫，他们遇到的危险有时反而比大胆的人更多更大。割风正是那种具有顾前思后性格的人。可是冉阿让的冷静态度，使他不由自主地被争取过来了。他嘟嘟囔囔地说：
“总之，除此以外，没有旁的办法。”
冉阿让接着说：
“唯一使我担心的事，便是不知道到了公墓怎么办。”
“这倒正是我放心的地方，”割风大声说，“要是您有把握，让自己能出棺材，那我也有把握让您能出坟坑。那个埋葬工人是个酒鬼，是我的朋友。梅斯千爷爷。一个爱喝酒的老头儿。埋葬工人把死人放在坟坑里，而我，我可以把埋葬工人放在我的口袋里。到了公墓怎么办，让我先来告诉您。我们到了那里，天还没有黑，离坟场关铁栅栏的时候还有三刻钟。灵车要一直滚到坟坑边。我在后面跟着，那是我的任务。我衣袋里带着一个铁锤、一把凿子、一个取钉钳。灵车停下来，殡仪执事们兜着您的棺材结上一根绳子，把您吊下去。神甫走来念些经，画一个十字，洒上圣水，溜了。我一个人和梅斯千爷爷留下来。那是我的朋友，我告诉您。总是两件事，要不是他喝醉了，要不是他没有喝醉。要是他没有喝醉，我就对他说：‘我们来喝一盅，趁这时好木瓜酒馆还开着。’我带他去，我把他灌醉，梅斯千爷爷用不着几下子便会醉倒，他是老带着几分醉意的，我为你让他直躺在桌子下面，拿了他那张进公墓的工作证，把他甩下，我自个儿回来。您就只有我一个人要对付了。要是他已经醉了，我就对他说：‘去你的，让我来干你的活。’他走了，我把您从洞里拖上来。”
冉阿让向他伸出一只手，割风跳上前，一把握住，乡下人的那股热情的确很动人。
“我同意，割风爷。一切顺利。”
“只要不发生意外，”割风心里想，“这是多么大的一场风险！”
