turned round he saw
nothing; the silence was profound, and he continued his march somewhat
reassured. All at once, on turning round, he thought he perceived in the
portion of the street which he had just passed through, far off in the
obscurity, something which was moving.

He rushed forward precipitately rather than walked, hoping to find some
side-street, to make his escape through it, and thus to break his scent
once more.

He arrived at a wall.

This wall, however, did not absolutely prevent further progress; it was
a wall which bordered a transverse street, in which the one he had taken
ended.

Here again, he was obliged to come to a decision; should he go to the
right or to the left.

He glanced to the right. The fragmentary lane was prolonged between
buildings which were either sheds or barns, then ended at a blind alley.
The extremity of the cul-de-sac was distinctly visible,--a lofty white
wall.

He glanced to the left. On that side the lane was open, and about
two hundred paces further on, ran into a street of which it was the
affluent. On that side lay safety.

At the moment when Jean Valjean was meditating a turn to the left, in
an effort to reach the street which he saw at the end of the lane, he
perceived a sort of motionless, black statue at the corner of the lane
and the street towards which he was on the point of directing his steps.

It was some one, a man, who had evidently just been posted there, and
who was barring the passage and waiting.

Jean Valjean recoiled.

The point of Paris where Jean Valjean found himself, situated between
the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and la Rapee, is one of those which recent
improvements have transformed from top to bottom,--resulting in
disfigurement according to some, and in a transfiguration according to
others. The market-gardens, the timber-yards, and the old buildings
have been effaced. To-day, there are brand-new, wide streets, arenas,
circuses, hippodromes, railway stations, and a prison, Mazas, there;
progress, as the reader sees, with its antidote.

Half a century ago, in that ordinary, popular tongue, which is all
compounded of traditions, which persists in calling the Institut les
Quatre-Nations, and the Opera-Comique Feydeau, the precise spot
whither Jean Valjean had arrived was called le Petit Picpus. The
Porte Saint-Jacques, the Porte Paris, the Barriere des Sergents, the
Porcherons, la Galiote, les Celestins, les Capucins, le Mail, la Bourbe,