The persons present dropped their eyes. One of them muttered: “A man would need to be devilish strong. And then he runs the risk of getting crushed!” “Come,” began Madeleine again, “twenty louis.” The same silence. “It is not the will which is lacking,” said a voice. M. Madeleine turned round, and recognized Javert. He had not noticed him on his arrival. Javert went on:— “It is strength. One would have to be a terrible man to do such a thing as lift a cart like that on his back.” Then, gazing fixedly at M. Madeleine, he went on, emphasizing every word that he uttered:— “Monsieur Madeleine, I have never known but one man capable of doing what you ask.” Madeleine shuddered. Javert added, with an air of indifference, but without removing his eyes from Madeleine:— “He was a convict.” “Ah!” said Madeleine. “In the galleys at Toulon.” Madeleine turned pale. Meanwhile, the cart continued to sink slowly. Father Fauchelevent rattled in the throat, and shrieked:— “I am strangling! My ribs are breaking! a screw! something! Ah!” Madeleine glanced about him. “Is there, then, no one who wishes to earn twenty louis and save the life of this poor old man?” No one stirred. Javert resumed:— “I have never known but one man who could take the place of a screw, and he was that convict.” “Ah! It is crushing me!” cried the old man. Madeleine raised his head, met Javert’s falcon eye still fixed upon him, looked at the motionless peasants, and smiled sadly. Then, without saying a word, he fell on his knees, and before the crowd had even had time to utter a cry, he was underneath the vehicle. A terrible moment of expectation and silence ensued. They beheld Madeleine, almost flat on his stomach beneath that terrible weight, make two vain efforts to bring his knees and his elbows together. They shouted to him, “Father Madeleine, come out!” Old Fauchelevent himself said to him, “Monsieur Madeleine, go away! You see that I am fated to die! Leave me! You will get yourself crushed also!” Madeleine made no reply. All the spectators were panting. The wheels had continued to sink, and it had become almost impossible for Madeleine to make his way from under the vehicle. Suddenly the enormous mass was seen to quiver, the cart rose slowly, the wheels half emerged from the ruts. They heard a stifled voice crying, “Make haste! Help!” It was Madeleine, who had just made a final effort. They rushed forwards. The devotion of a single man had given force and courage to all. The cart was raised by twenty arms. Old Fauchelevent was saved. Madeleine rose. He was pale, though dripping with perspiration. His clothes were torn and covered with mud. All wept. The old man kissed his knees and called him the good God. As for him, he bore upon his countenance an indescribable expression of happy and celestial suffering, and he fixed his tranquil eye on Javert, who was still staring at him. CHAPTER VII—FAUCHELEVENT BECOMES A GARDENER IN PARIS