At the moment when that name，which he had buried beneath so many layers，was so strangely articulated，he was struck with stupor，and as though intoxicated with the sinister eccentricity of his destiny；and through this stupor he felt that shudder which precedes great shocks.
He bent like an oak at the approach of a storm，like a soldier at the approach of an assault.
He felt shadows filled with thunders and lightnings descending upon his head.As he listened to Javert，the first thought which occurred to him was to go，to run and denounce himself，to take that Champmathieu out of prison and place himself there；this was as painful and as poignant as an incision in the living flesh.
Then it passed away，and he said to himself，'We will see！
We will see！'
He repressed this first，generous instinct，and recoiled before heroism.
It would be beautiful，no doubt，after the Bishop's holy words，after so many years of repentance and abnegation，in the midst of a penitence admirably begun，if this man had not flinched for an instant，even in the presence of so terrible a conjecture，but had continued to walk with the same step towards this yawning precipice，at the bottom of which lay heaven；that would have been beautiful；but it was not thus.
We must render an account of the things which went on in this soul，and we can only tell what there was there.He was carried away，at first，by the instinct of self-preservation；he rallied all his ideas in haste，stifled his emotions，took into consideration Javert's presence，that great danger，postponed all decision with the firmness of terror，shook off thought as to what he had to do，and resumed his calmness as a warrior picks up his buckler.
He remained in this state during the rest of the day，a whirlwind within，a profound tranquillity without.
He took no'preservative measures，'as they may be called.
Everything was still confused，and jostling together in his brain.
His trouble was so great that he could not perceive the form of a single idea distinctly，and he could have told nothing about himself，except that he had received a great blow.
He repaired to Fantine's bed of suffering，as usual，and prolonged his visit，through a kindly instinct，telling himself that he must behave thus，and recommend her well to the sisters，in case he should be obliged to be absent himself.
He had a vague feeling that he might be obliged to go to Arras；and without having the least in the world made up his mind to this trip，he said to himself that being，as he was，beyond the shadow of any suspicion，there could be nothing out of the way in being a witness to what was to take place，and he engaged the tilbury from Scaufflaire in order to be prepared in any event.
He dined with a good deal of appetite.
On returning to his room，he communed with himself.
He examined the situation，and found it unprecedented；so unprecedented that in the midst of his revery he rose from his chair，moved by some inexplicable impulse of anxiety，and bolted his door.
He feared lest something more should enter.He was barricading himself against possibilities.
A moment later he extinguished his light；it embarrassed him.
lt seemed to him as though he might be seen.
By whom？
Alas！
That on which he desired to close the door had already entered；that which he desired to blind was staring him in the face，——his conscience.
His conscience；that is to say，God.
Nevertheless，he deluded himself at first；he had a feeling of security and of solitude；the bolt once drawn，he thought himself impregnable；the candle extinguished，he felt himself invisible.
Then he took possession of himself：
he set his elbows on the table，leaned his head on his hand，and began to meditate in the dark.
'Where do I stand？
Am not I dreaming？
What have I heard？
Is it really true that I have seen that Javert，and that he spoke to me in that manner？
Who can that Champmathieu be？
So he resembles me！Is it possible？
When I reflect that yesterday I was so tranquil，and so far from suspecting anything！
What was I doing yesterday at this hour？
What is there in this incident？
What will the end be？What is to be done？'
This was the torment in which he found himself.
His brain had lost its power of retaining ideas；they passed like waves，and he clutched his brow in both hands to arrest them.
Nothing but anguish extricated itself from this tumult which overwhelmed his will and his reason，and from which he sought to draw proof and resolution.
His head was burning.
He went to the window and threw it wide open.There were no stars in the sky.
He returned and seated himself at the table.
The first hour passed in this manner.
Gradually，however，vague outlines began to take form and to fix themselves in his meditation，and he was able to catch a glimpse with precision of the reality，——not the whole situation，but some of the details.
He began by recognizing the fact that，critical and extraordinary as was this situation，he was completely master of it.
This only caused an increase of his stupor.
Independently of the severe and religious aim which he had assigned to his actions，all that he had made up to that day had been nothing but a hole in which to bury his name.
That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion，during his sleepless nights，was to ever hear that name pronounced；he had said to himself，that that would be the end of all things for him；that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him，and——who knows？——perhaps even his new soul within him，also.
He shuddered at the very thought that this was possible.
