"Bless you for coming," Monsieur Jondrette said as his wife led Monsieur Leblanc into their apartment.
"Yes, bless you," said Madame Jondrette. "You have no idea how much we appreciate your helping the Jondrette family."
"Jondrette?" Monsieur Leblanc turned to Monsieur Jondrette in confusion. "I thought you said your name was Fabantou."
"Fabantou, Jondrette, what does it matter? As you may recall, I’m an actor. Jondrette is my stage name. Now please sit down."
Marius watched as Monsieur Leblanc took a seat in one of his own chairs. Marius kept his hand still on the pistol in his waistcoat.
"Now I’m wondering, kind sir," Jondrette went on, "if you’d be interested in this valuable painting . . ."
As Jondrette began to talk, a man quietly entered the room and took a seat on a bed. Leblanc turned around and stared at him.
"Who’s that?"
"Oh, he’s just one of the neighbors. Now where was I? Oh yes, the painting. Allow me to show it to you."
As Jondrette described the wonders of this work of art, another man slipped quietly into the room. Again Monsieur Leblanc turned to look at these suspicious characters, and again Monsieur Jondrette reassured him that they were just neighbors.
Monsieur Leblanc rose to his feet. "This is an old inn sign worth only a few francs."
Suddenly the door was thrown open and three more thugs entered the room. One carried an iron club; the second carried a butcher’s cleaver; and the third held an enormous key stolen from a prison.
"Is everything ready?" asked Monsieur Jondrette.
"Yes, we have the carriages," said the man with the cleaver.
Jondrette suddenly lunged at Leblanc. "Do you recognize me?"
The older man studied Jondrette. "No, I don’t think so."
"My name is not Fabantou or Jondrette. My name is Thenardier, and I was the innkeeper at Montfermeil. Now do you know me?"
Leblanc flushed slightly but stayed calm. "No more than before."
Thenardier’s revelation had little effect on Leblanc, but it completely stunned Marius. He staggered and almost fell off the table. Here was the man who had saved his father’s life! Here was the man whom he had been searching for, and this man turned out to be a criminal!
Meanwhile Thenardier was pacing before Leblanc in an insane, frenzied triumph. "Well, I remember you," he continued. "One Christmas night you came to my inn and took away Fantine’s child, the Lark. You gave me fifteen hundred francs for that girl, but she was worth much more. You may dress like a humble man, but I know you’re a millionaire."
"I’m not a millionaire," protested Monsieur Leblanc, "and I wouldn’t have been mixed up with a crook like you."
"A crook?" yelped Thenardier. "I’m a war hero." He thumped the painting. "This picture was done by a famous artist, and it shows me rescuing General Pontmercy at the Battle of Waterloo."
Marius shuddered. There was no doubt left; this horrible man was indeed the one who had saved his father.
"It still looks like a sign to me," said Monsieur Leblanc.
"Why, you miserable old—"
"Is it time to take care of him now?" interrupted the man with the club.
Before Thenardier could respond, Monsieur Leblanc jumped up and ran to the window. He opened it and was halfway out, when three men seized him and wrestled him back into the room. They threw him onto a bed and tied him up.
Marius watched all this in horror. Should he fire the pistol? He wanted to rescue the brave father of the woman he loved. But if he did that, then the police would arrest Thenardier, who had saved his father’s life.
Thenardier sat down on the bed next to Leblanc. "I think we can come to an understanding. In a moment we’ll untie one hand so you can write a note."
Leblanc remained silent while Madame Thenardier brought a pen and paper, and her husband dictated the following message: My dear daughter, Come immediately. The person who gives you this note is instructed to bring you to me.
"Now sign it," said Monsieur Thenardier. "What’s your name anyway?"
"Urbain Fabre," replied Monsieur Leblanc.
Marius stared at the name. The initials on his precious handkerchief were U.F. Apparently he’d been wrong to assume it belonged to the daughter.
Thenardier gave the note to his wife, who hurried away with the man carrying the cleaver.
"Now let me explain what’s going to happen," said Thenardier. "My wife will give the note to your daughter, who will accompany her in a carriage. Somewhere on the edge of the city, the Lark will be transferred to another carriage and taken to an undisclosed location. My wife will return here, and as soon as you give me two hundred thousand francs, the Lark will be released."
Leblanc, whose real name, of course, was Jean Valjean, said nothing.
"By the way," said Thenardier, "if you have me arrested, my friend will take care of the Lark, if you know what I mean. Her fate is in your hands."
Marius was in shock. These hoodlums were kidnapping his beloved, but they weren’t bringing her back here? One of them was going to carry her off and harm her? He wanted to fire the pistol, but what good would it do? The hideous man with the cleaver would still have the Lark.
Suddenly he heard the door slam downstairs and someone running up the stairs.
Madame Thenardier burst into her apartment, followed by the man with the cleaver.
"False address!" she said breathlessly. "No one at that place had ever heard of Urbain Fabre!"
Marius breathed a sigh of relief because the Lark was safe.
"A false address!" exclaimed Monsieur Thenardier. "What did you hope to gain by that?"
"Time!" said Valjean. At that moment he shook off the ropes, which he had somehow managed to cut. Fastened by only one leg to the bed, he reached for the chisel in the fire. He pressed it to his forearm as the others recoiled in horror.
"Do to me what you will," he said. "I’m not afraid."
"It’s time to kill him," muttered Madame Thenardier as her husband reached for the carving knife in the drawer.
Marius looked wildly about him. Was now the moment to fire the pistol? But what about the Lark? Suddenly he spotted a piece of paper on his table. It said, "The cops are here." He wrapped it around a piece of plaster and tossed it through the hole in the wall.
"What was that?" cried Madame Thenardier.
"Look!" said her husband. "It’s Eponine’s writing. She must have thrown it through the window to warn us."
The thug with the enormous key tossed it on the floor and signaled the others. "It’s time to get out of here!"
Quickly another thug unrolled the rope ladder and attached it to the window.
"Not so fast!" said a voice at the door.
To Marius’ relief, it belonged to Javert. A squad of policemen rushed into the room and handcuffed the thugs.
"Now where is that man you were holding hostage?" asked Javert.
An officer ran to the window, where the rope ladder was still trembling. "He seems to have escaped, sir."