When M. Madeleine was passing one morning through an unpaved lane in the town, he heard a noise and saw a group at some distance, to which he walked up. An old man, known as Father Fauchelevent, had fallen under his cart, and his horse was lying on the ground. This Fauchelevent was one of the few enemies M. Madeleine still had at this time. When Madeleine came to these parts, Fauchelevent, a tolerably well-educated peasant, was doing badly in business; and he saw the simple workman grow rich, while he, a master, was being ruined. This filled him with jealousy, and he had done all in his power, on every possible occasion, to injure Madeleine. Then bankruptcy came, and in his old days, having only a horse and cart left, and no family, he turned carter to earn a living. The horse had both legs broken and could not get up, while the old man was entangled between the wheels. The fall had been so unfortunate, that the whole weight of the cart was pressing on his chest, and it was heavily loaded. Fauchelevent uttered lamentable groans, and attempts had been made, though in vain, to draw him out; any irregular effort, any clumsy help or shock, might kill him. It was impossible to extricate him except by raising the cart from below, and Javert, who came up at the moment of the accident, had sent to fetch a jack. When M. Madeleine approached, the mob made way respectfully. "Help!" old Fauchelevent cried; "is there no good soul who will save an old man?" M. Madeleine turned to the spectators. "Have you a jack?" "They have gone to fetch one," a peasant answered. "How soon will it be here?" "Well, the nearest is at Flachot the blacksmith's, but it cannot be brought here under a good quarter of an hour." "A quarter of an hour!" Madeleine exclaimed. It had rained on the previous night, the ground was soft, the cart sunk deeper into it every moment, and more and more pressed the old man's chest. It was evident that his ribs would be broken within five minutes. "It is impossible to wait a quarter of an hour," said M. Madeleine to the peasants who were looking on. "We must." "But do you not see that the cart is sinking into the ground?" "Hang it! so it is." "Listen to me," Madeleine continued; "there is still room enough for a man to slip under the cart and raise it with his back. It will only take half a minute, and the poor man can be drawn out. Is there any one here who has strong loins? There are five louis to be earned." No one stirred. "Ten louis," Madeleine said. His hearers looked down, and one of them muttered, "A man would have to be deucedly strong, and, besides, he would run a risk of being smashed." "Come," Madeleine began again, "twenty louis." The same silence. "It is not the good-will they are deficient in," a voice cried. M. Madeleine turned and recognized Javert: he had noticed him when he came up. Javert continued,-- "It is the strength. A man would have to be tremendously strong to lift a cart like that with his back."