ed thousand francs, she will be returned to you. If you have me
arrested, my comrade will give a turn of his thumb to the Lark, that's
all."

The prisoner uttered not a syllable. After a pause, Thenardier
continued:--

"It's very simple, as you see. There'll be no harm done unless you wish
that there should be harm done. I'm telling you how things stand. I warn
you so that you may be prepared."

He paused: the prisoner did not break the silence, and Thenardier
resumed:--

"As soon as my wife returns and says to me: 'The Lark is on the way,' we
will release you, and you will be free to go and sleep at home. You see
that our intentions are not evil."

Terrible images passed through Marius' mind. What! That young girl whom
they were abducting was not to be brought back? One of those monsters
was to bear her off into the darkness? Whither? And what if it were she!

It was clear that it was she. Marius felt his heart stop beating.

What was he to do? Discharge the pistol? Place all those scoundrels in
the hands of justice? But the horrible man with the meat-axe would, none
the less, be out of reach with the young girl, and Marius reflected on
Thenardier's words, of which he perceived the bloody significance: "If
you have me arrested, my comrade will give a turn of his thumb to the
Lark."

Now, it was not alone by the colonel's testament, it was by his own
love, it was by the peril of the one he loved, that he felt himself
restrained.

This frightful situation, which had already lasted above half an hour,
was changing its aspect every moment.

Marius had sufficient strength of mind to review in succession all the
most heart-breaking conjectures, seeking hope and finding none.

The tumult of his thoughts contrasted with the funereal silence of the
den.

In the midst of this silence, the door at the bottom of the staircase
was heard to open and shut again.

The prisoner made a movement in his bonds.

"Here's the bourgeoise," said Thenardier.

He had hardly uttered the words, when the Thenardier woman did in fact
rush hastily into the room, red, panting, breathless, with flaming eyes,
and cried, as she smote her huge hands on her thighs simultaneously:--

"False address!"

The ruffian who had gone with her made his appearance behind her and
picked up his axe again.

She resumed:--

"Nobody there! Rue Saint-Dominique, No. 17, no Monsieur Urbain Fabre!
They know not what it means!"

She paused, choking,