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this stupor he felt that shudder which precedes great shocks.
He bent like an oak at the approach of a storm, like a sol-
dier at the approach of an assault. He felt shadows filled
with thunders and lightnings descending upon his head.
As he listened to Javert, the first thought which occurred
to him was to go, to run and denounce himself, to take that
Champmathieu out of prison and place himself there; this
was as painful and as poignant as an incision in the living
flesh. Then it passed away, and he said to himself, ‘We will
see! We will see!’ He repressed this first, generous instinct,
and recoiled before heroism.
It would be beautiful, no doubt, after the Bishop’s holy
words, after so many years of repentance and abnegation, in
the midst of a penitence admirably begun, if this man had
not flinched for an instant, even in the presence of so ter-
rible a conjecture, but had continued to walk with the same
step towards this yawning precipice, at the bottom of which
lay heaven; that would have been beautiful; but it was not
thus. We must render an account of the things which went
on in this soul, and we can only tell what there was there.
He was carried away, at first, by the instinct of self-preser-
vation; he rallied all his ideas in haste, stifled his emotions,
took into consideration Javert’s presence, that great danger,
postponed all decision with the firmness of terror, shook off
thought as to what he had to do, and resumed his calmness
as a warrior picks up his buckler.
He remained in this state during the rest of the day, a
whirlwind within, a profound tranquillity without. He took
no ‘preservative measures,’ as they may be called. Every-