Chapter 64 Eight privileges to be seated

The prestige of the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer had never occurred to him.For seven years his fame had spread throughout the Lower Boulogne, and then beyond this small district, to two or three neighboring provinces.In addition to his important role in revitalizing the bakery industry in the city, there is not a single town in the 181 towns of Montreuil-sur-Mer that has not been under his care.He can also help and develop industries in other counties when necessary.With his credit and funds he has been at hand, whenever occasion required, to assist the Pearlot mills at Boulogne, the iron-machine mills at Frevent, and the water-powered weaving mills at Côtes.No matter where, the name of M. Madeleine was mentioned with awe.Both Arras and Douai envied the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer, saying it was a lucky town.

This time in Arras the chairman of the Criminal Tribunal was Douai's imperial counselor. Like others, he also knew this name that was respected everywhere and respected by everyone.The bailiff gently opened the door leading from the meeting room to the public hall, bent over behind the president's armchair, handed over the paper we had read just now and said, "This gentleman requests an audience." The president was deeply moved. , took a pen, wrote a few words on the bottom of the paper, handed it to the bailiff, and said to him: "Please come in." The sad man whose history we tell stands by the hall door in the same position and manner as when the bailiff first left him.In his dream haunting him, he heard a person say to him: "Will you give me the honor to lead the way, sir?" It was the bailiff who had turned his back to him just now, and now bowed to him directly to the ground.The bailiff handed him the paper at the same time.He unfolded it, and while he was standing by the lamp, he read:

"The President of the Trial Chamber pays tribute to M. Madeleine." He rubbed the paper, as if the words had left him with a bitter aftertaste. He followed the bailiff. A few minutes later, he entered a conference room, where he stood alone, with its walls richly decorated and forbidding, with two candles burning on a green baize table.The words of the bailiff when he left him at last still lingered in his ears: "Sir, you are in the council room, you have only to turn the brass knob on this door, and you are in the courtroom, Behind the President's armchair." These words were mixed in his thoughts with the memory of the narrow corridors and dark escalators through which he had just passed.

The bailiff left him alone.The critical moment has arrived.He tried to concentrate, but couldn't.Especially when we are eager to connect the threads in our minds with the painful reality of life, they tend to break in our brains.He happened to be at the place where these judges usually confer and pass judgments.He silently stared at this terrifyingly quiet room, thinking how many lives were lost here, his own name would soon be spread from here, and he would pass the test here now, he He looked at the wall and at himself, wondering that there should be this room and this person. He hadn't eaten for more than twenty-four hours, and the jolting of the car had worn him out, but he didn't feel it, as if he couldn't feel anything.

He approached a black picture frame hanging on the wall. Behind the glass of the frame was an old letter, written by the Mayor and Minister of Paris, Jean-Nicolas Passy, ​​dated June 9, 2002. , which must have been a wrong date, in which Pasch notified the town of the names of the ministers and councilors they had detained.If anyone could have seen and paid attention to Madeleine at this moment, he would have thought that the letter particularly interested Madeleine, because he did not take his eyes off it, and read it two or three times.He himself did not notice or feel that he was reading the letter.He was thinking of Fantine and Cosette.

He turned around while thinking, his eyes touched the brass knob on the door, and beyond the door was the criminal court.He almost forgot about the door at first.His gaze fell on the door calmly at first, and then fixed on the brass button. He felt astonished, watched quietly, and gradually became terrified.Beads of sweat flowed from his hair and flowed to his temples. For a moment he made an indescribable gesture with a serious and recalcitrant air, which meant (and said it so correctly): "Damn! Who made me?" Turning around, he saw the door he had entered before was in front of him, he went to open the door, and stepped out in one step.He was no longer in the house, he was outside, in a corridor; it was a long and narrow corridor, with many steps, a few small windows, winding, and along the way a few lamps like those lit all night in a sick room Backlight, this is the corridor he passed through when he came.He let out a breath and listened carefully for a while. There was no movement behind him, and there was no movement in front of him. He started to slip away, as if someone was chasing him.

He slipped around a few corners of the corridor and stopped again to listen.Around him, it was still as silent and dim as before.He was short of breath, couldn't stand upright, and leaned against the wall quickly.The stone was cold, and the sweat on his forehead was like ice. He stood up straight, but shivered. He stood there alone, in the dark, feeling cold, perhaps trembling with something else, and he thought again. He had been thinking all night, he had been thinking all day, and all he heard was a voice in his heart saying, "Ah!" A quarter of an hour passed like this.As a result, he bowed his head, sighed sadly, and walked back with his hands hanging down.He walked slowly, as if overwhelmed.It was as if someone caught up with him while he was absconding and dragged him back.

He walked into the conference room again.The first thing he saw was the door knob.The knob was round and smooth, and it shone before his eyes like a frightening star.He looked at it like a lamb in the eye of a tiger. He couldn't take his eyes off it. He stopped every step and walked towards the door. If he listened, he would hear voices in the next hall, like a noisy murmur.But he didn't listen, and couldn't hear. Suddenly, even he himself did not know how he got to the door.He gripped the knob nervously, and the door swung open. He's in the courtroom.