180 Les Miserables
No one could have told what was passing within him,
not even himself. In order to attempt to form an idea of it,
it is necessary to think of the most violent of things in the
presence of the most gentle. Even on his visage it would
have been impossible to distinguish anything with certain-
ty. It was a sort of haggard astonishment. He gazed at it,
and that was all. But what was his thought? It would have
been impossible to divine it. What was evident was, that he
was touched and astounded. But what was the nature of this
emotion?
His eye never quitted the old man. The only thing which
was clearly to be inferred from his attitude and his physiog-
nomy was a strange indecision. One would have said that he
was hesitating between the two abysses,— the one in which
one loses one’s self and that in which one saves one’s self. He
seemed prepared to crush that skull or to kiss that hand.
At the expiration of a few minutes his left arm rose slow-
ly towards his brow, and he took off his cap; then his arm
fell back with the same deliberation, and Jean Valjean fell to
meditating once more, his cap in his left hand, his club in
his right hand, his hair bristling all over his savage head.
The Bishop continued to sleep in profound peace be-
neath that terrifying gaze.
The gleam of the moon rendered confusedly visible the
crucifix over the chimney-piece, which seemed to be ex-
tending its arms to both of them, with a benediction for one
and pardon for the other.
Suddenly Jean Valjean replaced his cap on his brow; then
stepped rapidly past the bed, without glancing at the Bish-