Page 113 - les-miserables

to the fire; a fine odor was emitted by the pot. All that could
be distinguished of his face, beneath his cap, which was
well pulled down, assumed a vague appearance of comfort,
mingled with that other poignant aspect which habitual
suffering bestows.
It was, moreover, a firm, energetic, and melancholy pro-
file. This physiognomy was strangely composed; it began
by seeming humble, and ended by seeming severe. The eye
shone beneath its lashes like a fire beneath brushwood.
One of the men seated at the table, however, was a fish-
monger who, before entering the public house of the Rue
de Chaffaut, had been to stable his horse at Labarre’s. It
chanced that he had that very morning encountered this
unprepossessing stranger on the road between Bras d’Asse
and—I have forgotten the name. I think it was Escoublon.
Now, when he met him, the man, who then seemed already
extremely weary, had requested him to take him on his
crupper; to which the fishmonger had made no reply except
by redoubling his gait. This fishmonger had been a mem-
ber half an hour previously of the group which surrounded
Jacquin Labarre, and had himself related his disagreeable
encounter of the morning to the people at the Cross of Col-
bas. From where he sat he made an imperceptible sign to
the tavern-keeper. The tavern-keeper went to him. They
exchanged a few words in a low tone. The man had again
become absorbed in his reflections.
The tavern-keeper returned to the fireplace, laid his hand
abruptly on the shoulder of the man, and said to him:—
‘You are going to get out of here.’

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