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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 un-
consciously. 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 in-
tended 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, mak-
ing 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 stag-
gered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was cold; the
perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened him-
self up with a shiver.