It was only at the expiration of two hours that she roused herself from her reverie, and exclaimed, “Hold! My good God Jesus! And I hung his key on the nail!”
At that moment the small window in the lodge opened, a hand passed through, seized the key and the candlestick, and lighted the taper at the candle which was burning there.
The portress raised her eyes, and stood there with gaping mouth, and a shriek which she confined to her throat.
She knew that hand, that arm, the sleeve of that coat.
It was M. Madeleine.
It was several seconds before she could speak; she had a seizure , as she said herself, when she related the adventure afterwards.
“Good God, Monsieur le Maire,” she cried at last, “I thought you were—”
She stopped; the conclusion of her sentence would have been lacking in respect towards the beginning. Jean Valjean was still Monsieur le Maire to her.
He finished her thought.
“In prison,” said he. “I was there; I broke a bar of one of the windows; I let myself drop from the top of a roof, and here I am. I am going up to my room; go and find Sister Simplice for me. She is with that poor woman, no doubt.”
The old woman obeyed in all haste.
He gave her no orders; he was quite sure that she would guard him better than he should guard himself.