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At this strange moment； an instinct possibly the mysterious instinct of self…preservation；restrained Jean Valjean from uttering a word。
The beggar had the same figure； the same rags； the same appearance as he had every day。
〃Bah！〃 said Jean Valjean； 〃I am mad！
I am dreaming！
Impossible！〃
And he returned profoundly troubled。
He hardly dared to confess； even to himself； that the face which he thought he had seen was the face of Javert。
That night； on thinking the matter over； he regretted not having questioned the man； in order to force him to raise his head a second time。
On the following day； at nightfall； he went back。
The beggar was at his post。
〃Good day； my good man；〃 said Jean Valjean； resolutely； handing him a sou。
The beggar raised his head； and replied in a whining voice； 〃Thanks； my good sir。〃
It was unmistakably the ex…beadle。
Jean Valjean felt pletely reassured。
He began to laugh。 〃How the deuce could I have thought that I saw Javert there？〃 he thought。
〃Am I going to lose my eyesight now？〃
And he thought no more about it。
A few days afterwards；it might have been at eight o'clock in the evening；he was in his room； and engaged in making Cosette spell aloud； when he heard the house door open and then shut again。 This struck him as singular。
The old woman； who was the only inhabitant of the house except himself； always went to bed at nightfall； so that she might not burn out her candles。
Jean Valjean made a sign to Cosette to be quiet。
He heard some one ascending the stairs。 It might possibly be the old woman； who might have fallen ill and have been out to the apothecary's。 Jean Valjean listened。
The step was heavy； and sounded like that of a man； but the old woman wore stout shoes； and there is nothing which so strongly resembles the step of a man as that of an old woman。
Nevertheless； Jean Valjean blew out his candle。
He had sent Cosette to bed； saying to her in a low voice； 〃Get into bed very softly〃； and as he kissed her brow； the steps paused。
Jean Valjean remained silent； motionless； with his back towards the door； seated on the chair from which he had not stirred； and holding his breath in the dark。
After the expiration of a rather long interval； he turned round； as he heard nothing more； and； as he raised his eyes towards the door of his chamber； he saw a light through the keyhole。
This light formed a sort of sinister star in the blackness of the door and the wall。 There was evidently some one there； who was holding a candle in his hand and listening。
Several minutes elapsed thus； and the light retreated。
But he heard no sound of footsteps； which seemed to indicate that the person who had been listening at the door had removed his shoes。
Jean Valjean threw himself； all dressed as he was； on his bed； and could not close his eyes all night。
At daybreak； just as he was falling into a doze through fatigue； he was awakened by the creaking of a door which opened on some attic at the end of the corridor； then he heard the same masculine footstep which had ascended the stairs on the preceding evening。 The step was approaching。
He sprang off the bed and applied his eye to the keyhole； which was tolerably large； hoping to see the person who had made his way by night into the house and had listened at his door； as he passed。
It was a man； in fact； who passed； this time without pausing； in front of Jean Valjean's chamber。
The corridor was too dark to allow of the person's face being distinguished； but when the man reached the staircase； a ray of light from without made it stand out like a silhouette； and Jean Valjean had a plete view of his back。
The man was of lofty stature； clad in a long frock…coat； with a cudgel under his arm。
The formidable neck and shoulders belonged to Javert。
Jean Valjean might have attempted to catch another glimpse of him through his window opening on the boulevard； but he would have been obliged to open the window：
he dared not。
It was evident that this man had entered with a key； and like himself。 Who had given him that key？
What was the meaning of this？
When the old woman came to do the work； at seven o'clock in the morning； Jean Valjean cast a penetrating glance on her； but he did not question her。
The good woman appeared as usual。
As she swept up she remarked to him：
〃Possibly Monsieur may have heard some one e in last night？〃
At that age； and on that boulevard； eight o'clock in the evening was the dead of the night。
〃That is true； by the way；〃 he replied； in the most natural tone possible。
〃Who was it？〃
〃It was a new lodger who has e into the house；〃 said the old woman。
〃And what is his name？〃
〃I don't know exactly； Dumont； or Daumont； or some name of that sort。〃
〃And who is this Monsieur Dumont？〃
The old woman gazed at him with her little polecat eyes； and answered：
〃A gentleman of property； like yourself。〃
Perhaps she had no ulterior meaning。
Jean Valjean thought he perceived one。
When the old woman had taken her departure； he did up a hundred francs which he had in a cupboard； into a roll； and put it in his pocket。 In spite of all the precautions which he took in this operation so that he might not be heard rattling silver； a hundred…sou piece escaped from his hands and rolled noisily on the floor。
When darkness came on； he descended and carefully scrutinized both sides of the boulevard。
He saw no one。
The boulevard appeared to be absolutely deserted。
It is true that a person can conceal himself behind trees。
He went up stairs again。
〃e。〃
he said to Cosette。
He took her by the hand； and they both went out。
BOOK FIFTH。FOR A BLACK HUNT； A MUTE PACK
CHAPTER I
THE ZIGZAGS OF STRATEGY
An observation here bees necessary； in view of the pages which the reader is about to peruse； and of others which will be met with further on。
The author of this book； who regrets the necessity of mentioning himself； has been absent from Paris for many years。
Paris has been transformed since he quitted it。
A new city has arisen； which is； after a fashion； unknown to him。
There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris： Paris is his mind's natal city。
In consequence of demolitions and reconstructions； the Paris of his youth； that Paris which he bore away religiously in his memory； is now a Paris of days gone by。 He must be permitted to speak of that Paris as though it still existed。 It is possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and says； 〃In such a street there stands such and such a house；〃 neither street nor house will any longer exist in that locality。 Readers may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble。 For his own part； he is unacquainted with the new Paris； and he writes with the old Paris before his eyes in an illusion which is precious to him。
It is a delight to him to dream that there still lingers behind him something of that which he beheld when he was in his own country； and that all has not vanished。
So long as you go and e in your native land； you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you； that those windows； those roofs； and those doors are nothing to you； that those walls are strangers to you； that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard； that those houses； which you do not enter； are useless to you； that the pavements which you tread are merely stones。
Later on； when you are no longer there； you perceive that the streets are dear to you； that you miss those roofs； those doors； and that those walls are necessary to you； those trees are well beloved by you； that you entered those houses which you never entered； every day； and that you have left a part of your heart； of your blood； of your soul； in those pavements。
All those places which you no longer behold； which you may never behold again； perchance； and whose memory you have cherished； take on a melancholy charm； recur to your mind with the melancholy of an apparition； make the holy land visible to you； and are； so to speak； the very form of France； and you love them； and you call them up as they are； as they were； and you persist in this； and you will submit to no change： for you are attached to the figure of your fatherland as to the face of your mother。
May we； then； be permitted to speak of the past in the present？ That said； we beg the reader to take note of it； and we continue。
Jean Valjean instantly quitted the boulevard and plunged into the streets； taking the most intricate lines which he could devise； returning on his track at times； to make sure that he was not being followed。
This manoeuvre is peculiar to the hunted stag。
On soil where an imprint of the track may be left； this manoeuvre possesses； among other advantages； that of deceiving the huntsmen and the dogs； by throwing them on the wrong scent。
In venery this is called false re…imbushment。
The moon was full that night。
Jean Valjean was not sorry for this。 The moon； still very close to the horizon； cast great masses of light and shadow in the streets。
Jean Valjean could glide along close to the houses on the dark side； and yet keep watch on the light side。 He did not； perhaps； take sufficiently into consideration the fact that the dark side escaped him。
Still； in the deserted lanes which lie near the Rue Poliveau； he thought he felt certain that no one was following him。
Cosette walked on without asking any questions。
The sufferings of the first six years of her life had instilled something passive into her nature。
Moreover；and this is a remark to which we shall frequently have occasion to recur；she had grown used； without being herself aware of it； to the peculiarities of this good man and to the freaks of destiny。
And then she was with him； and she felt safe。
Jean Valjean knew no more where he was going than did Cosette。 He trusted in God； as she trusted in him。
It seemed as though he also were clinging to the hand of some one greater than himself； he thought he felt a being leading him； though invisible。 However； he had no settled idea； no plan； no project。
He was not even absolutely sure that it was Javert； and then it might have been Javert； without Javert knowing that he was Jean Valjean。
Was not he disguised？
Was not he believed to be dead？
Still； queer things had been going on for several days。
He wanted no more of them。 He was determined not to return to the Gorbeau house。
Like the wild animal chased from its lair； he was seeking a hole in which he might hide until he could find one where he might dwell。
Jean Valjean described many and varied labyrinths in the Mouffetard quarter； which was already asleep； as though the discipline of the Middle Ages and the yoke of the curfew still existed； he bined in various manners； with cunning strategy； the Rue Censier and the Rue Copeau； the Rue du Battoir…Saint…Victor and the Rue du Puits l'Ermite。 There are lodging houses in this locality； but he did not even enter one； finding nothing which suited him。 He had no doubt that if any one had chanced to be upon his track； they would have lost it。
As eleven o'clock struck from Saint…Etienne…du…Mont； he was traversing the Rue de Pontoise； in front of the office of the missary of police； situated at No。 14。
A few moments later； the instinct of which we have spoken above made him turn round。 At that moment he saw distinctly； thanks to the missary's lantern； which betrayed them； three men who were following him closely； pass； one after the other； under that lantern； on the dark side of the street。 One of the three entered the alley leading to the missary's house。 The one who marched at their head struck him as decidedly suspicious。
〃e； child；〃 he said to Cosette； and he made haste to quit the Rue Pontoise。
He took a circuit； turned into the Passage des Patriarches； which was closed on account of the hour； strode along the Rue de l'Epee…de…Bois and the Rue de l'Arbalete； and plunged into the Rue des Postes。
At that time there was a square formed by the intersection of streets； where the College Rollin stands to…day； and where the Rue Neuve…Sainte…Genevieve turns off。
It is understood； of course； that the Rue Neuve…Sainte…Genevieve is an old street； and that a posting…chaise does not pass through the Rue des Postes once in ten years。
In the thirteenth century this Rue des Postes was inhabited by potters； and its real name is Rue des Pots。
The moon cast a livid light into this open space。
Jean Valjean went into ambush in a doorway； calculating that if the men were still following him； he could not fail to get a good look at them； as they traversed this illuminated space。
In point of fact； three minutes had not elapsed when the men made their appearance。
There were four of them now。
All were tall； dressed in long； brown coats； with round hats； and huge cudgels in their hands。
Their great stature and their vast fists rendered them no less alarming than did their sinister stride through the darkness。 One