He knelt down on his commode, stretched out his arm, seized the sheet of paper, softly detached a bit of plaster from the wall, wrapped the paper round it, and tossed the whole through the crevice into the middle of the den.

It was high time. Thénardier had conquered his last fears or his last scruples, and was advancing on the prisoner.

“Something is falling!” cried the Thénardier woman.

“What is it?” asked her husband.

The woman darted forward and picked up the bit of plaster. She handed it to her husband.

“Where did this come from?” demanded Thénardier.

“Pardie!” ejaculated his wife, “where do you suppose it came from? Through the window, of course.”

“I saw it pass,” said Bigrenaille.