ass, an ancient autograph letter of Jean Nicolas
Pache, mayor of Paris and minister, and dated, through an error, no
doubt, the 9th of June, of the year II., and in which Pache forwarded to
the commune the list of ministers and deputies held in arrest by them.
Any spectator who had chanced to see him at that moment, and who had
watched him, would have imagined, doubtless, that this letter struck him
as very curious, for he did not take his eyes from it, and he read it
two or three times. He read it without paying any attention to it, and
unconsciously. He was thinking of Fantine and Cosette.

As he dreamed, he turned round, and his eyes fell upon the brass knob
of the door which separated him from the Court of Assizes. He had almost
forgotten that door. His glance, calm at first, paused there, remained
fixed on that brass handle, then grew terrified, and little by little
became impregnated with fear. Beads of perspiration burst forth among
his hair and trickled down upon his temples.

At a certain moment he made that indescribable gesture of a sort of
authority mingled with rebellion, which is intended to convey, and which
does so well convey, "Pardieu! who compels me to this?" Then he wheeled
briskly round, caught sight of the door through which he had entered in
front of him, went to it, opened it, and passed out. He was no longer
in that chamber; he was outside in a corridor, a long, narrow corridor,
broken by steps and gratings, making all sorts of angles, lighted
here and there by lanterns similar to the night taper of invalids, the
corridor through which he had approached. He breathed, he listened; not
a sound in front, not a sound behind him, and he fled as though pursued.

When he had turned many angles in this corridor, he still listened. The
same silence reigned, and there was the same darkness around him. He was
out of breath; he staggered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was
cold; the perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened himself
up with a shiver.

Then, there alone in the darkness, trembling with cold and with
something else, too, perchance, he meditated.

He had meditated all night long; he had meditated all the day: he heard
within him but one voice, which said, "Alas!"

A quarter of an hour passed thus. At length he bowed his head, sighed
with agony, dropped his arms, and retraced his steps. He walked slowly,
and as though crushed. It seemed as though some one had overtaken hi