Nevertheless，by dint of gazing intently he thought he perceived on the ground something which appeared to be covered with a winding-sheet，and which resembled a human form.This form was lying face downward，flat on the pavement，with the arms extended in the form of a cross，in the immobility of death.One would have said，judging from a sort of serpent which undulated over the floor，that this sinister form had a rope round its neck.
The whole chamber was bathed in that mist of places which are sparely illuminated，which adds to horror.
Jean Valjean often said afterwards，that，although many funereal spectres had crossed his path in life，he had never beheld anything more blood-curdling and terrible than that enigmatical form accomplishing some inexplicable mystery in that gloomy place，and beheld thus at night.
It was alarming to suppose that that thing was perhaps dead；and still more alarming to think that it was perhaps alive.
He had the courage to plaster his face to the glass，and to watch whether the thing would move.
In spite of his remaining thus what seemed to him a very long time，the outstretched form made no movement.All at once he felt himself overpowered by an inexpressible terror，and he fled.
He began to run towards the shed，not daring to look behind him.
It seemed to him，that if he turned his head，he should see that form following him with great strides and waving its arms.
He reached the ruin all out of breath.
His knees were giving way beneath him；the perspiration was pouring from him.
Where was he？
Who could ever have imagined anything like that sort of sepulchre in the midst of Paris！
What was this strange house？An edifice full of nocturnal mystery，calling to souls through the darkness with the voice of angels，and when they came，offering them abruptly that terrible vision；promising to open the radiant portals of heaven，and then opening the horrible gates of the tomb！
And it actually was an edifice，a house，which bore a number on the street！It was not a dream！
He had to touch the stones to convince himself that such was the fact.
Cold，anxiety，uneasiness，the emotions of the night，had given him a genuine fever，and all these ideas were clashing together in his brain.
He stepped up to Cosette.
She was asleep.
BOOK FIFTH.——FOR A BLACK HUNT，A MUTE PACK
Ⅷ THE ENIGMA BECOMES DOUBLY MYSTERIOUS
The child had laid her head on a stone and fallen asleep.
He sat down beside her and began to think.
Little by little，as he gazed at her，he grew calm and regained possession of his freedom of mind.
He clearly perceived this truth，the foundation of his life henceforth，that so long as she was there，so long as he had her near him，he should need nothing except for her，he should fear nothing except for her.
He was not even conscious that he was very cold，since he had taken off his coat to cover her.
Nevertheless，athwart this revery into which he had fallen he had heard for some time a peculiar noise.
It was like the tinkling of a bell.
This sound proceeded from the garden.
It could be heard distinctly though faintly.
It resembled the faint，vague music produced by the bells of cattle at night in the pastures.
This noise made Valjean turn round.
He looked and saw that there was some one in the garden.
A being resembling a man was walking amid the bell-glasses of the melon beds，rising，stooping，halting，with regular movements，as though he were dragging or spreading out something on the ground.This person appeared to limp.
Jean Valjean shuddered with the continual tremor of the unhappy.For them everything is hostile and suspicious.
They distrust the day because it enables people to see them，and the night because it aids in surprising them.
A little while before he had shivered because the garden was deserted，and now he shivered because there was some one there.
He fell back from chimerical terrors to real terrors.
He said to himself that Javert and the spies had，perhaps，not taken their departure；that they had，no doubt，left people on the watch in the street；that if this man should discover him in the garden，he would cry out for help against thieves and deliver him up.He took the sleeping Cosette gently in his arms and carried her behind a heap of old furniture，which was out of use，in the most remote corner of the shed.
Cosette did not stir.
From that point he scrutinized the appearance of the being in the melon patch.
The strange thing about it was，that the sound of the bell followed each of this man's movements.
When the man approached，the sound approached；when the man retreated，the sound retreated；if he made any hasty gesture，a tremolo accompanied the gesture；when he halted，the sound ceased.
It appeared evident that the bell was attached to that man；but what could that signify？Who was this man who had a bell suspended about him like a ram or an ox？
As he put these questions to himself，he touched Cosette's hands.They were icy cold.
'Ah！good God！'he cried.
He spoke to her in a low voice：——
'Cosette！'
She did not open her eyes.
He shook her vigorously.
She did not wake.
'Is she dead？'he said to himself，and sprang to his feet，quivering from head to foot.
The most frightful thoughts rushed pell-mell through his mind.There are moments when hideous surmises assail us like a cohort of furies，and violently force the partitions of our brains.When those we love are in question，our prudence invents every sort of madness.
He remembered that sleep in the open air on a cold night may be fatal.
Cosette was pale，and had fallen at full length on the ground at his feet，without a movement.
He listened to her breathing：
she still breathed，but with a respiration which seemed to him weak and on the point of extinction.
How was he to warm her back to life？
How was he to rouse her？All that was not connected with this vanished from his thoughts.He rushed wildly from the ruin.
It was absolutely necessary that Cosette should be in bed and beside a fire in less than a quarter of an hour.
BOOK FIFTH.——FOR A BLACK HUNT，A MUTE PACK
