In the imminent peril in which Jean Valjean found himself，this sombre building had about it a solitary and uninhabited look which tempted him.
He ran his eyes rapidly over it；he said to himself，that if he could contrive to get inside it，he might save himself.First he conceived an idea，then a hope.
In the central portion of the front of this building，on the Rue Droit-Mur side，there were at all the windows of the different stories ancient cistern pipes of lead.
The various branches of the pipes which led from one central pipe to all these little basins sketched out a sort of tree on the front.
These ramifications of pipes with their hundred elbows imitated those old leafless vine-stocks which writhe over the fronts of old farm-houses.
This odd espalier，with its branches of lead and iron，was the first thing that struck Jean Valjean.
He seated Cosette with her back against a stone post，with an injunction to be silent，and ran to the spot where the conduit touched the pavement.Perhaps there was some way of climbing up by it and entering the house.But the pipe was dilapidated and past service，and hardly hung to its fastenings.
Moreover，all the windows of this silent dwelling were grated with heavy iron bars，even the attic windows in the roof.And then，the moon fell full upon that facade，and the man who was watching at the corner of the street would have seen Jean Valjean in the act of climbing.
And finally，what was to be done with Cosette？How was she to be drawn up to the top of a three-story house？
He gave up all idea of climbing by means of the drain-pipe，and crawled along the wall to get back into the Rue Polonceau.
When he reached the slant of the wall where he had left Cosette，he noticed that no one could see him there.
As we have just explained，he was concealed from all eyes，no matter from which direction they were approaching；besides this，he was in the shadow.Finally，there were two doors；perhaps they might be forced.The wall above which he saw the linden-tree and the ivy evidently abutted on a garden where he could，at least，hide himself，although there were as yet no leaves on the trees，and spend the remainder of the night.
Time was passing；he must act quickly.
He felt over the carriage door，and immediately recognized the fact that it was impracticable outside and in.
He approached the other door with more hope；it was frightfully decrepit；its very immensity rendered it less solid；the planks were rotten；the iron bands——there were only three of them——were rusted.
It seemed as though it might be possible to pierce this worm-eaten barrier.
On examining it he found that the door was not a door；it had neither hinges，cross-bars，lock，nor fissure in the middle；the iron bands traversed it from side to side without any break.Through the crevices in the planks he caught a view of unhewn slabs and blocks of stone roughly cemented together，which passers-by might still have seen there ten years ago.
He was forced to acknowledge with consternation that this apparent door was simply the wooden decoration of a building against which it was placed.It was easy to tear off a plank；but then，one found one's self face to face with a wall.
BOOK FIFTH.——FOR A BLACK HUNT，A MUTE PACK
Ⅴ WHICH WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE WITH GAS LANTERNS
At that moment a heavy and measured sound began to be audible at some distance.
Jean Valjean risked a glance round the corner of the street.
Seven or eight soldiers，drawn up in a platoon，had just debouched into the Rue Polonceau.
He saw the gleam of their bayonets.
They were advancing towards him；these soldiers，at whose head he distinguished Javert's tall figure，advanced slowly and cautiously.
They halted frequently；it was plain that they were searching all the nooks of the walls and all the embrasures of the doors and alleys.
This was some patrol that Javert had encountered——there could be no mistake as to this surmise——and whose aid he had demanded.
Javert's two acolytes were marching in their ranks.
At the rate at which they were marching，and in consideration of the halts which they were making，it would take them about a quarter of an hour to reach the spot where Jean Valjean stood.It was a frightful moment.
A few minutes only separated Jean Valjean from that terrible precipice which yawned before him for the third time.
And the galleys now meant not only the galleys，but Cosette lost to him forever；that is to say，a life resembling the interior of a tomb.
There was but one thing which was possible.
Jean Valjean had this peculiarity，that he carried，as one might say，two beggar's pouches：
in one he kept his saintly thoughts；in the other the redoubtable talents of a convict.
He rummaged in the one or the other，according to circumstances.
Among his other resources，thanks to his numerous escapes from the prison at Toulon，he was，as it will be remembered，a past master in the incredible art of crawling up without ladder or climbing-irons，by sheer muscular force，by leaning on the nape of his neck，his shoulders，his hips，and his knees，by helping himself on the rare projections of the stone，in the right angle of a wall，as high as the sixth story，if need be；an art which has rendered so celebrated and so alarming that corner of the wall of the Conciergerie of Paris by which Battemolle，condemned to death，made his escape twenty years ago.
Jean Valjean measured with his eyes the wall above which he espied the linden；it was about eighteen feet in height.
The angle which it formed with the gable of the large building was filled，at its lower extremity，by a mass of masonry of a triangular shape，probably intended to preserve that too convenient corner from the rubbish of those dirty creatures called the passers-by.This practice of filling up corners of the wall is much in use in Paris.
This mass was about five feet in height；the space above the summit of this mass which it was necessary to climb was not more than fourteen feet.
The wall was surmounted by a flat stone without a coping.
