XI
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Jean Valjean
listened. Not a sound.
He pushed the door.
He pushed the door.
He pushed it lightly
with the tip of his finger, with a cat’s stealthy, timorous care. The door yielded to the pressure with a
slight, imperceptible movement widening the opening slightly.
He waited a moment,
then pushed the door again more firmly.
This time a poorly oiled hinge suddenly let out a harsh and prolonged
creak into the darkness.
Jean Valjean
trembled. The noise sounded in his ears
as clear and terrible as the last trumpet on the Judgment Day. In the fantastic exaggeration of this
instant, he knew that the hinge had become animate and suddenly
endowed with a terrible life, that it was barking like a dog to waken all
sleepers.
The old man, the
bishop, Monseigneur Bienvenu rose. The old women screamed. Jean Valjean turned
to flee, but his way was blocked by the Bishop who held a musket.
“Monsieur,” said the Bishop, “You have entered this house of God with the intent to steal and to rob. But, Nisi gladiis tutatur domum, qui custodiant eam vigilate in frustra.[i]” He fired the musket and the shot rang out in the darkened house. Smoke and the screams of the old nuns filled the room as Jean Valjean sagged to the floor and died.
The End.
“Monsieur,” said the Bishop, “You have entered this house of God with the intent to steal and to rob. But, Nisi gladiis tutatur domum, qui custodiant eam vigilate in frustra.[i]” He fired the musket and the shot rang out in the darkened house. Smoke and the screams of the old nuns filled the room as Jean Valjean sagged to the floor and died.
The End.
[i]
NOTE: Author’s footnotes are indicated by the initials NRA, all other footnotes
are the translators. – Unless swords
protect a house, they who guard it watch in vain. (NRA)
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