tance, he so managed as not to lose sight of him. Boldness in ambuscade is the bravery of the timid. After all, notwithstanding the solemnity of the attendant circumstances, Gwynplaine might have been summoned before the magistrate for some unimportant infraction of the law. Ursus assured himself that the question would be decided at once.
The mystery would be solved under his very eyes by the direction taken by the cortége when it reached the entrance to the street leading into the Little Strand. If it turned to the left, it would conduct Gwynplaine to the justice hall in Southwark. In that case there would be little to fear. Some trifling municipal offence, an admonition from the magistrate, two or three shillings to pay, and Gwynplaine would be set at liberty, and the performance of "Chaos Vanquished" would take place in the evening as usual. In that case no one would know that anything unusual had happened. If the cortége turned to the right, matters would look more serious. There were frightful places in that direction.
When the wapentake, leading the file of guards between whom Gwynplaine walked, reached the small streets, Ursus watched him breathlessly. There are moments in which a man's whole being passes into his eyes. Which way were they going to turn? They turned to the right.
Ursus, staggering with terror, leaned against a wall for support. There is no hypocrisy greater than the words we often say to ourselves, "I wish to know the worst!" At heart we do not wish it at all. We have a dreadful dread of knowing it. Agony is mingled with a dim effort not to see the end. We do not own it to ourselves, but we would draw back if we dared; and when we have advanced, we reproach ourselves for having done so.
