1372 Les Miserables
corner like brutes, and remained silent.
Thenardier warmed his feet.
The prisoner had relapsed into his taciturnity. A sombre
calm had succeeded to the wild uproar which had filled the
garret but a few moments before.
The candle, on which a large ‘stranger’ had formed, cast
but a dim light in the immense hovel, the brazier had grown
dull, and all those monstrous heads cast misshapen shad-
ows on the walls and ceiling.
No sound was audible except the quiet breathing of the
old drunken man, who was fast asleep.
Marius waited in a state of anxiety that was augment-
ed by every trifle. The enigma was more impenetrable than
ever.
Who was this ‘little one’ whom Thenardier had called
the Lark? Was she his ‘Ursule’? The prisoner had not seemed
to be affected by that word, ‘the Lark,’ and had replied in
the most natural manner in the world: ‘I do not know what
you mean.’ On the other hand, the two letters U. F. were
explained; they meant Urbain Fabre; and Ursule was no
longer named Ursule. This was what Marius perceived most
clearly of all.
A sort of horrible fascination held him nailed to his post,
from which he was observing and commanding this whole
scene. There he stood, almost incapable of movement or re-
flection, as though annihilated by the abominable things
viewed at such close quarters. He waited, in the hope of
some incident, no matter of what nature, since he could not
collect his thoughts and did not know upon what course to