Part 163 (1/2)
He went on:--
”Sign. What is your name?”
”Urbain Fabre,” said the prisoner.
Thenardier, with the movement of a cat, dashed his hand into his pocket and drew out the handkerchief which had been seized on M. Leblanc. He looked for the mark on it, and held it close to the candle.
”U. F. That's it. Urbain Fabre. Well, sign it U. F.”
The prisoner signed.
”As two hands are required to fold the letter, give it to me, I will fold it.”
That done, Thenardier resumed:--
”Address it, 'Mademoiselle Fabre,' at your house. I know that you live a long distance from here, near Saint-Jacquesdu-Haut-Pas, because you go to ma.s.s there every day, but I don't know in what street. I see that you understand your situation. As you have not lied about your name, you will not lie about your address. Write it yourself.”
The prisoner paused thoughtfully for a moment, then he took the pen and wrote:--
”Mademoiselle Fabre, at M. Urbain Fabre's, Rue Saint-Dominique-D'Enfer, No. 17.”
Thenardier seized the letter with a sort of feverish convulsion.
”Wife!” he cried.
The Thenardier woman hastened to him.
”Here's the letter. You know what you have to do. There is a carriage at the door. Set out at once, and return ditto.”
And addressing the man with the meat-axe:--
”Since you have taken off your nose-screen, accompany the mistress. You will get up behind the fiacre. You know where you left the team?”
”Yes,” said the man.
And depositing his axe in a corner, he followed Madame Thenardier.
As they set off, Thenardier thrust his head through the half-open door, and shouted into the corridor:--
”Above all things, don't lose the letter! remember that you carry two hundred thousand francs with you!”
The Thenardier's hoa.r.s.e voice replied:--
”Be easy. I have it in my bosom.”
A minute had not elapsed, when the sound of the cracking of a whip was heard, which rapidly retreated and died away.
”Good!” growled Thenardier. ”They're going at a fine pace. At such a gallop, the bourgeoise will be back inside three-quarters of an hour.”
He drew a chair close to the fireplace, folding his arms, and presenting his muddy boots to the brazier.
”My feet are cold!” said he.