Suddenly, the distant and melancholy vibration of a clock shook the panes. Six o’clock was striking from Saint-Médard. Jondrette marked off each stroke with a toss of his head. When the sixth had struck, he snuffed the candle with his fingers.
Then he began to pace up and down the room, listened at the corridor, walked on again, then listened once more. 'Provided only that he comes! ' he muttered, then he returned to his chair. He had hardly reseated himself when the door opened.
Mother Jondrette had opened it, and now remained in the corridor making a horrible, amiable grimace, which one of the holes of the dark-lantern illuminated from below. 'Enter, sir,' she said. 'Enter, my benefactor,' repeated Jondrette, rising hastily. M. Leblanc made his appearance.
He wore an air of serenity which rendered him singularly venerable. He laid four louis on the table. 'Monsieur Fabantou,' said he, 'this is for your rent and your most pressing necessities. We will attend to the rest hereafter. ' 'May God requite it to you, my generous benefactor! ' said Jondrette.
And rapidly approaching his wife:— 'Dismiss the carriage! ' She slipped out while her husband was lavishing salutes and offering M. Leblanc a chair. An instant later she returned and whispered in his ear:— '’Tis done.
' The snow, which had not ceased falling since the morning, was so deep that the arrival of the fiacre had not been audible, and they did not now hear its departure. Meanwhile, M. Leblanc had seated himself. Jondrette had taken possession of the other chair, facing M. Leblanc.
Now, in order to form an idea of the scene which is to follow, let the reader picture to himself in his own mind, a cold night, the solitudes of the Salpêtrière covered with snow and white as winding-sheets in