The chief
walked straight up to him, and commenced operations by giving him a
sharp blow on the head, so that the wig fell off, and Collin's face
was revealed in all its ugliness. There was a terrible suggestion of
strength mingled with cunning in the short, brick-red crop of hair,
the whole head was in harmony with his powerful frame, and at that
moment the fires of hell seemed to gleam from his eyes. In that flash
the real Vautrin shone forth, revealed at once before them all; they
understood his past, his present, and future, his pitiless doctrines,
his actions, the religion of his own good pleasure, the majesty with
which his cynicism and contempt for mankind invested him, the physical
strength of an organization proof against all trials. The blood flew
to his face, and his eyes glared like the eyes of a wild cat. He
started back with savage energy and a fierce growl that drew
exclamations of alarm from the lodgers. At that leonine start the
police caught at their pistols under cover of the general clamor.
Collin saw the gleaming muzzles of the weapons, saw his danger, and
instantly gave proof of a power of the highest order. There was
something horrible and majestic in the spectacle of the sudden
transformation in his face; he could only be compared to a cauldron
full of the steam that can send mountains flying, a terrific force
dispelled in a moment by a drop of cold water.
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