“Come on!” cried a voice which was not the voice of a man, but of which no one would ever have said: “It is a woman’s voice.”
The Thénardier woman had entrenched herself in one of the angles of the window, and it was she who had just given vent to this roar.
The policemen and agents recoiled.
She had thrown off her shawl, but retained her bonnet; her husband, who was crouching behind her, was almost hidden under the discarded shawl, and she was shielding him with her body, as she elevated the paving-stone above her head with the gesture of a giantess on the point of hurling a rock.
“Beware!” she shouted.
All crowded back towards the corridor. A broad open space was cleared in the middle of the garret.
The Thénardier woman cast a glance at the ruffians who had allowed themselves to be pinioned, and muttered in hoarse and guttural accents:—
“The cowards!”
Javert smiled, and advanced across the open space which the Thénardier was devouring with her eyes.
“Don’t come near me,” she cried, “or I’ll crush you.”