At that epoch， Father Gillenormand was well past his ninety-first birthday. He still lived with Mademoiselle Gillenormand in the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire， No. 6， in the old house which he owned. He was， as the reader will remember， one of those antique old men who await death perfectly erect， whom age bears down without bending， and whom even sorrow cannot curve.
Still， his daughter had been saying for some time: "My father is sinking." He no longer boxed the maids' ears; he no longer thumped the landing-place so vigorously with his cane when Basque was slow in opening the door. The Revolution of July had exasperated him for the space of barely six months. He had viewed， almost tranquilly， that coupling of words， in the Moniteur: M. Humblot-Conte， peer of France. The fact is， that the old man was deeply dejected. He did not bend， he did not yield; this was no more a characteristic of his physical than of his moral nature， but he felt himself giving way internally. For four years he had been waiting for Marius， with his foot firmly planted， that is the exact word， in the conviction that that good-for-nothing young scamp would ring at his door some day or other; now he had reached the point， where， at certain gloomy hours， he said to himself， that if Marius made him wait much longer--It was not death that was insupportable to him; it was the idea that perhaps he should never see Marius again. The idea of never seeing Marius again had never entered his brain until that day; now the thought began to recur to him， and it chilled him. Absence， as is always the case in genuine and natural sentiments， had only served to augment the grandfather's love for the ungrateful child， who had gone off like a flash. It is during December nights， when the cold stands at ten degrees， that one thinks oftenest of the son.
M. Gillenormand was， or thought himself， above all things， incapable of taking a single step， he--the grandfather， towards his grandson; "I would die rather，" he said to himself. He did not consider himself as the least to blame; but he thought of Marius only with profound tenderness， and the mute despair of an elderly， kindly old man who is about to vanish in the dark.
He began to lose his teeth， which added to his sadness.
M. Gillenormand， without however acknowledging it to himself， for it would have rendered him furious and ashamed， had never loved a mistress as he loved Marius.
He had had placed in his chamber， opposite the head of his bed， so that it should be the first thing on which his eyes fell on waking， an old portrait of his other daughter， who was dead， Madame Pontmercy， a portrait which had been taken when she was eighteen. He gazed incessantly at that portrait. One day， he happened to say， as he gazed upon it:--
"I think the likeness is strong."
"To my sister?" inquired Mademoiselle Gillenormand. "Yes， certainly."
"The old man added:--
"And to him also."
Once as he sat with his knees pressed together， and his eyes almost closed， in a despondent attitude， his daughter ventured to say to him:--
"Father， are you as angry with him as ever?"
She paused， not daring to proceed further.
"With whom?" he demanded.
"With that poor Marius."
He raised his aged head， laid his withered and emaciated fist on the table， and exclaimed in his most irritated and vibrating tone:--
"Poor Marius， do you say! That gentleman is a knave， a wretched scoundrel， a vain little ingrate， a heartless， soulless， haughty， and wicked man!"
And he turned away so that his daughter might not see the tear that stood in his eye.
Three days later he broke a silence which had lasted four hours， to say to his daughter point-blank:--
"I had the honor to ask Mademoiselle Gillenormand never to mention him to me."
Aunt Gillenormand renounced every effort， and pronounced this acute diagnosis: "My father never cared very much for my sister after her folly. It is clear that he detests Marius."
"After her folly" meant: "after she had married the colonel."
However， as the reader has been able to conjecture， Mademoiselle Gillenormand had failed in her attempt to substitute her favorite， the officer of lancers， for Marius. The substitute， Theodule， had not been a success. M. Gillenormand had not accepted the quid pro quo. A vacancy in the heart does not accommodate itself to a stop-gap. Theodule， on his side， though he scented the inheritance， was disgusted at the task of pleasing. The goodman bored the lancer; and the lancer shocked the goodman. Lieutenant Theodule was gay， no doubt， but a chatter-box， frivolous， but vulgar; a high liver， but a frequenter of bad company; he had mistresses， it is true， and he had a great deal to say about them， it is true also; but he talked badly. All his good qualities had a defect. M. Gillenormand was worn out with hearing him tell about the love affairs that he had in the vicinity of the barracks in the Rue de Babylone. And then， Lieutenant Gillenormand sometimes came in his uniform， with the tricolored cockade. This rendered him downright intolerable. Finally， Father Gillenormand had said to his daughter: "I've had enough of that Theodule. I haven't much taste for warriors in time of peace. Receive him if you choose. I don't know but I prefer slashers to fellows that drag their swords. The clash of blades in battle is less dismal， after all， than the clank of the scabbard on the pavement. And then， throwing out your chest like a bully and lacing yourself like a girl， with stays under your cuirass， is doubly ridiculous. When one is a veritable man， one holds equally aloof from swagger and from affected airs. He is neither a blusterer nor a finnicky-hearted man. Keep your Theodule for yourself."
It was in vain that his daughter said to him: "But he is your grandnephew， nevertheless，"--it turned out that M. Gillenormand， who was a grandfather to the very finger-tips， was not in the least a grand-uncle.
In fact， as he had good sense， and as he had compared the two， Theodule had only served to make him regret Marius all the more.
One evening，--it was the 24th of June， which did not prevent Father Gillenormand having a rousing fire on the hearth，--he had dismissed his daughter， who was sewing in a neighboring apartment. He was alone in his chamber， amid its pastoral scenes， with his feet propped on the andirons， half enveloped in his huge screen of coromandel lacquer， with its nine leaves， with his elbow resting on a table where burned two candles under a green shade， engulfed in his tapestry armchair， and in his hand a book which he was not reading. He was dressed， according to his wont， like an incroyable， and resembled an antique portrait by Garat. This would have made people run after him in the street， had not his daughter covered him up， whenever he went out， in a vast bishop's wadded cloak， which concealed his attire. At home， he never wore a dressing gown，except when he rose and retired. "It gives one a look of age，" said he.
Father Gillenormand was thinking of Marius lovingly and bitterly; and， as usual， bitterness predominated. His tenderness once soured always ended by boiling and turning to indignation. He had reached the point where a man tries to make up his mind and to accept that which rends his heart. He was explaining to himself that there was no longer any reason why Marius should return， that if he intended to return， he should have done it long ago， that he must renounce the idea. He was trying to accustom himself to the thought that all was over， and that he should die without having beheld "that gentleman" again. But his whole nature revolted; his aged paternity would not consent to this. "Well!" said he，-- this was his doleful refrain，--"he will not return!" His bald head had fallen upon his breast， and he fixed a melancholy and irritated gaze upon the ashes on his hearth.
In the very midst of his revery， his old servant Basque entered， and inquired:--
"Can Monsieur receive M. Marius?"
The old man sat up erect， pallid， and like a corpse which rises under the influence of a galvanic shock. All his blood had retreated to his heart. He stammered:--
"M. Marius what?"
"I don't know，" replied Basque， intimidated and put out of countenance by his master's air; "I have not seen him. Nicolette came in and said to me:`There's a young man here; say that it is M. Marius.'"
Father Gillenormand stammered in a low voice:--
"Show him in."
And he remained in the same attitude， with shaking head， and his eyes fixed on the door. It opened once more. A young man entered. It was Marius.
Marius halted at the door， as though waiting to be bidden to enter.
His almost squalid attire was not perceptible in the obscurity caused by the shade. Nothing could be seen but his calm， grave， but strangely sad face.
It was several minutes before Father Gillenormand， dulled with amazement and joy， could see anything except a brightness as when one is in the presence of an apparition. He was on the point of swooning; he saw Marius through a dazzling light. It certainly was he， it certainly was Marius.
At last! After the lapse of four years! He grasped him entire， so to speak， in a single glance. He found him noble， handsome， distinguished， well-grown， a complete man， with a suitable mien and a charming air. He felt a desire to open his arms， to call him， to fling himself forward; his heart melted with rapture， affectionate words swelled and overflowed his breast; at length all his tenderness came to the light and reached his lips， and， by a contrast which constituted the very foundation of his nature， what came forth was harshness. He said abruptly:--
"What have you come here for?"
Marius replied with embarrassment:--
"Monsieur--"
M. Gillenormand would have liked to have Marius throw himself into his arms. He was displeased with Marius and with himself. He was conscious that he was brusque， and that Marius was cold. It caused the goodman unendurable and irritating anxiety to feel so tender and forlorn within， and only to be able to be hard outside. Bitterness returned. He interrupted Marius in a peevish tone:--
"Then why did you come?"
That "then" signified: If you do not come to embrace me. Marius looked at his grandfather， whose pallor gave him a face of marble.
"Monsieur--"
"Have you come to beg my pardon? Do you acknowledge your faults?"
He thought he was putting Marius on the right road， and that "the child" would yield. Marius shivered; it was the denial of his father that was required of him; he dropped his eyes and replied:--
"No， sir."
"Then，" exclaimed the old man impetuously， with a grief that was poignant and full of wrath， "what do you want of me?"
Marius clasped his hands， advanced a step， and said in a feeble and trembling voice:--
"Sir， have pity on me."
These words touched M. Gillenormand; uttered a little sooner， they would have rendered him tender， but they came too late. The grandfather rose; he supported himself with both hands on his cane; his lips were white， his brow wavered， but his lofty form towered above Marius as he bowed.
"Pity on you， sir! It is youth demanding pity of the old man of ninety-one! You are entering into life， I am leaving it; you go to the play， to balls， to the cafe， to the billiard-hall; you have wit， you please the women， you are a handsome fellow; as for me， I spit on my brands in the heart of summer; you are rich with the only riches that are really such， I possess all the poverty of age; infirmity， isolation! You have your thirty-two teeth， a good digestion， bright eyes， strength， appetite， health， gayety， a forest of black hair; I have no longer even white hair， I have lost my teeth， I am losing my legs， I am losing my memory; there are three names of streets that I confound incessantly， the Rue Charlot， the Rue du Chaume， and the Rue Saint-Claude， that is what I have come to; you have before you the whole future， full of sunshine， and I am beginning to lose my sight， so far am I advancing into the night; you are in love， that is a matter of course， I am beloved by no one in all the world; and you ask pity of me! Parbleu! Moliere forgot that. If that is the way you jest at the courthouse， Messieurs the lawyers， I sincerely compliment you. You are droll."
And the octogenarian went on in a grave and angry voice:--
"Come， now， what do you want of me?"
"Sir，" said Marius， "I know that my presence is displeasing to you， but I have come merely to ask one thing of you， and then I shall go away immediately."
"You are a fool!" said the old man. "Who said that you were to go away?"
This was the translation of the tender words which lay at the bottom of his heart:--
"Ask my pardon! Throw yourself on my neck!"
M. Gillenormand felt that Marius would leave him in a few moments， that his harsh reception had repelled the lad， that his hardness was driving him away; he said all this to himself， and it augmented his grief; and as his grief was straightway converted into wrath， it increased his harshness. He would have liked to have Marius understand， and Marius did not understand， which made the goodman furious.
He began again:--
"What! you deserted me， your grandfather， you left my house to go no one knows whither， you drove your aunt to despair， you went off， it is easily guessed， to lead a bachelor life; it's more convenient， to play the dandy， to come in at all hours， to amuse yourself; you have given me no signs of life， you have contracted debts without even telling me to pay them， you have become a smasher of windows and a blusterer， and， at the end of four years， you come to me， and that is all you have to say to me!"
This violent fashion of driving a grandson to tenderness was productive only of silence on the part of Marius. M. Gillenormand folded his arms; a gesture which with him was peculiarly imperious， and apostrophized Marius bitterly:--
"Let us make an end of this. You have come to ask something of me， you say? Well， what? What is it? Speak!"
"Sir，" said Marius， with the look of a man who feels that he is falling over a precipice， "I have come to ask your permission to marry."
M. Gillenormand rang the bell. Basque opened the door half-way.
"Call my daughter."
A second later， the door was opened once more， Mademoiselle Gillenormand did not enter， but showed herself; Marius was standing， mute， with pendant arms and the face of a criminal; M. Gillenormand was pacing back and forth in the room. He turned to his daughter and said to her:--
"Nothing. It is Monsieur Marius. Say good day to him. Monsieur wishes to marry. That's all. Go away."
The curt， hoarse sound of the old man's voice announced a strange degree of excitement. The aunt gazed at Marius with a frightened air， hardly appeared to recognize him， did not allow a gesture or a syllable to escape her， and disappeared at her father's breath more swiftly than a straw before the hurricane.
In the meantime， Father Gillenormand had returned and placed his back against the chimney-piece once more.
"You marry! At one and twenty! You have arranged that! You have only a permission to ask! a formality. Sit down， sir. Well， you have had a revolution since I had the honor to see you last. The Jacobins got the upper hand. You must have been delighted. Are you not a Republican since you are a Baron? You can make that agree. The Republic makes a good sauce for the barony. Are you one of those decorated by July? Have you taken the Louvre at all， sir? Quite near here， in the Rue Saint-Antoine， opposite the Rue des Nonamdieres， there is a cannon-ball incrusted in the wall of the third story of a house with this inscription: July 28th， 1830.' Go take a look at that. It produces a good effect. Ah! those friends of yours do pretty things. By the way， aren't they erecting a fountain in the place of the monument of M. le Duc de Berry? So you want to marry? Whom? Can one inquire without indiscretion?"
He paused， and， before Marius had time to answer， he added violently:--
"Come now， you have a profession? A fortune made? How much do you earn at your trade of lawyer?"
"Nothing，" said Marius， with a sort of firmness and resolution that was almost fierce.
"Nothing? Then all that you have to live upon is the twelve hundred livres that I allow you?"
Marius did not reply. M. Gillenormand continued:--
"Then I understand the girl is rich?"
"As rich as I am."
"What! No dowry?"
"No."
"Expectations?"
"I think not."
"Utterly naked! What's the father?"
"I don't know."
"And what's her name?"
"Mademoiselle Fauchelevent."
"Fauchewhat?"
"Fauchelevent."
"Pttt!" ejaculated the old gentleman.
"Sir!" exclaimed Marius.
M. Gillenormand interrupted him with the tone of a man who is speaking to himself:--
"That's right， one and twenty years of age， no profession， twelve hundred livres a year， Madame la Baronne de Pontmercy will go and purchase a couple of sous' worth of parsley from the fruiterer."
"Sir，" repeated Marius， in the despair at the last hope， which was vanishing， "I entreat you! I conjure you in the name of Heaven， with clasped hands， sir， I throw myself at your feet， permit me to marry her!"
The old man burst into a shout of strident and mournful laughter， coughing and laughing at the same time.
"Ah! ah! ah! You said to yourself:`Pardine! I'll go hunt up that old blockhead， that absurd numskull! What a shame that I'm not twenty-five! How I'd treat him to a nice respectful summons! How nicely I'd get along without him! It's nothing to me，I'd say to him: "You're only too happy to see me， you old idiot， I want to marry， I desire to wed Mamselle No-matter-whom， daughter of Monsieur No-matter-what， I have no shoes， she has no chemise， that just suits; I want to throw my career， my future， my youth， my life to the dogs; I wish to take a plunge into wretchedness with a woman around my neck， that's an idea， and you must consent to it!" and the old fossil will consent.' Go， my lad， do as you like， attach your paving-stone， marry your Pousselevent， your Coupelevent-- Never， sir， never!"
"Father--"
"Never!"
At the tone in which that "never" was uttered， Marius lost all hope. He traversed the chamber with slow steps， with bowed head， tottering and more like a dying man than like one merely taking his departure. M. Gillenormand followed him with his eyes， and at the moment when the door opened， and Marius was on the point of going out， he advanced four paces， with the senile vivacity of impetuous and spoiled old gentlemen， seized Marius by the collar， brought him back energetically into the room， flung him into an armchair and said to him:--
"Tell me all about it!"
"It was that single word "father" which had effected this revolution.
Marius stared at him in bewilderment. M. Gillenormand's mobile face was no longer expressive of anything but rough and ineffable good-nature. The grandsire had given way before the grandfather.
"Come， see here， speak， tell me about your love affairs， jabber， tell me everything! Sapristi! How stupid young folks are!"
"Father--" repeated Marius.
The old man's entire countenance lighted up with indescribable radiance.
"Yes， that's right， call me father， and you'll see!"
There was now something so kind， so gentle， so openhearted， and so paternal in this brusqueness， that Marius， in the sudden transition from discouragement to hope， was stunned and intoxicated by it， as it were. He was seated near the table， the light from the candles brought out the dilapidation of his costume， which Father Gillenormand regarded with amazement.
"Well， father--" said Marius.
"Ah， by the way，" interrupted M. Gillenormand， "you really have not a penny then? You are dressed like a pickpocket."
He rummaged in a drawer， drew forth a purse， which he laid on the table: "Here are a hundred louis， buy yourself a hat."
"Father，" pursued Marius， "my good father， if you only knew! I love her. You cannot imagine it; the first time I saw her was at the Luxembourg， she came there; in the beginning， I did not pay much heed to her， and then， I don't know how it came about， I fell in love with her. Oh! How unhappy that made me! Now， at last， I see her every day， at her own home， her father does not know it， just fancy， they are going away， it is in the garden that we meet， in the evening， her father means to take her to England， then I said to myself: `I'll go and see my grandfather and tell him all about the affair. I should go mad first， I should die， I should fall ill， I should throw myself into the water. I absolutely must marry her， since I should go mad otherwise.' This is the whole truth， and I do not think that I have omitted anything. She lives in a garden with an iron fence， in the Rue Plumet. It is in the neighborhood of the Invalides."
Father Gillenormand had seated himself， with a beaming countenance， beside Marius. As he listened to him and drank in the sound of his voice， he enjoyed at the same time a protracted pinch of snuff.At the words "Rue Plumet" he interrupted his inhalation and allowed the remainder of his snuff to fall upon his knees.
"The Rue Plumet， the Rue Plumet， did you say? --Let us see! --Are there not barracks in that vicinity?--Why， yes， that's it. Your cousin Theodule has spoken to me about it. The lancer， the officer. A gay girl， my good friend， a gay girl!--Pardieu， yes， the Rue Plumet. It is what used to be called the Rue Blomet.--It all comes back to me now. I have heard of that little girl of the iron railing in the Rue Plumet. In a garden， a Pamela. Your taste is not bad. She is said to be a very tidy creature. Between ourselves， I think that simpleton of a lancer has been courting her a bit. I don't know where he did it. However， that's not to the purpose. Besides， he is not to be believed. He brags， Marius! I think it quite proper that a young man like you should be in love. It's the right thing at your age. I like you better as a lover than as a Jacobin. I like you better in love with a petticoat， sapristi! With twenty petticoats， than with M. de Robespierre. For my part， I will do myself the justice to say， that in the line of sans-culottes， I have never loved any one but women. Pretty girls are pretty girls， the deuce! There's no objection to that. As for the little one， she receives you without her father's knowledge. That's in the established order of things. I have had adventures of that same sort myself. More than one. Do you know what is done then? One does not take the matter ferociously; one does not precipitate himself into the tragic; one does not make one's mind to marriage and M. le Maire with his scarf. One simply behaves like a fellow of spirit. One shows good sense. Slip along， mortals; don't marry. You come and look up your grandfather， who is a good-natured fellow at bottom， and who always has a few rolls of louis in an old drawer; you say to him: See here， grandfather.' And the grandfather says: That's a simple matter. Youth must amuse itself， and old age must wear out. I have been young， you will be old. Come， my boy， you shall pass it on to your grandson. Here are two hundred pistoles. Amuse yourself， deuce take it!' Nothing better! That's the way the affair should be treated. You don't marry， but that does no harm. You understand me?"
Marius， petrified and incapable of uttering a syllable， made a sign with his head that he did not.
The old man burst out laughing， winked his aged eye， gave him a slap on the knee， stared him full in the face with a mysterious and beaming air， and said to him， with the tenderest of shrugs of the shoulder:--
"Booby! Make her your mistress."
Marius turned pale. He had understood nothing of what his grandfather had just said. This twaddle about the Rue Blomet， Pamela， the barracks， the lancer， had passed before Marius like a dissolving view. Nothing of all that could bear any reference to Cosette， who was a lily. The good man was wandering in his mind. But this wandering terminated in words which Marius did understand， and which were a mortal insult to Cosette. Those words， "make her your mistress，" entered the heart of the strict young man like a sword.
He rose， picked up his hat which lay on the floor， and walked to the door with a firm， assured step. There he turned round， bowed deeply to his grandfather， raised his head erect again， and said:--
"Five years ago you insulted my father; to-day you have insulted my wife. I ask nothing more of you， sir. Farewell."
Father Gillenormand， utterly confounded， opened his mouth， extended his arms， tried to rise， and before he could utter a word， the door closed once more， and Marius had disappeared.
The old man remained for several minutes motionless and as though struck by lightning， without the power to speak or breathe， as though a clenched fist grasped his throat. At last he tore himself from his arm-chair， ran， so far as a man can run at ninety-one， to the door， opened it， and cried:--
"Help! Help!"
His daughter made her appearance， then the domestics. He began again， with a pitiful rattle: "Run after him! Bring him back! What have I done to him? He is mad! He is going away! Ah! My God! Ah! My God! This time he will not come back!"
He went to the window which looked out on the street， threw it open with his aged and palsied hands， leaned out more than half-way， while Basque and Nicolette held him behind， and shouted:--
"Marius! Marius! Marius! Marius!"
But Marius could no longer hear him， for at that moment he was turning the corner of the Rue Saint-Louis.
The octogenarian raised his hands to his temples two or three times with an expression of anguish， recoiled tottering， and fell back into an arm-chair， pulseless， voiceless， tearless， with quivering head and lips which moved with a stupid air， with nothing in his eyes and nothing any longer in his heart except a gloomy and profound something which resembled night.
吉诺曼公公这时早已满了九十一岁。他一直和吉诺曼姑娘住在受难修女街六号他自己的老房子里。我们记得，他是一个那种笔挺地立着等死、年龄压不倒、苦恼也折磨不了的老古董。
可是不久前，她的女儿常说：“我父亲瘪下去了。”他已不再打女仆的嘴巴，当巴斯克替他开门开得太慢时，他提起手杖跺楼梯板，也没有从前的那股狠劲了。七月革命的那六个月，没怎么惹他激怒。他几乎是无动于衷地望着《通报》中这样联起来的字句：“安布洛－孔泰先生，法兰西世卿。”其实这老人的苦恼大得很。无论从体质方面或精神方面说，他都能做到遇事不屈服，不让步，但是他感到他的心力日渐衰竭了。四年来，他时时都在盼着马吕斯，自以为万无一失，正如人们常说的，深信这小坏蛋迟早总有一天要来拉他的门铃的，但到后来，在心情颓丧的时刻，他常对自己说，要是马吕斯再迟迟不来……他受不了的不是死的威胁，而是也许不会再和马吕斯相见这个念头。不再和马吕斯相见，这在以前，是他脑子里从来不曾想过的事；现在他却经常被这一念头侵扰，感到心寒。出自自然和真挚情感的离愁别恨，只能增加外公对那不知感恩、随意离他而去的孩子的爱。在零下十度的十二月夜晚，人们最思念太阳。吉诺曼先生认为，他作为长辈，是无论如何不可能向外孙迈出一步的。“我宁愿死去。”他说。他认为自己没有错，但是只要一想到马吕斯，他心里总会泛起一个行将入墓的老人所有的那种深厚的慈爱心肠和无可奈何的失望情绪。
他的牙已开始脱落，这使他的心情更加沉重。
吉诺曼先生一生从来没有象他爱马吕斯那样爱过一个情妇，这却是他不敢对自己承认的，因为他感到那样会使自己狂怒，也会觉得惭愧。
他叫人在他卧室的床头，挂一幅画像，使他醒来第一眼就能看见，那是他另一个女儿，死了的那个女儿，彭眉胥夫人十八岁时的旧画像。他常对着这画像看个不停。一天，他一面看，一面说出了这样一句话：
“我看，他很象她。”
“象我妹妹吗？”吉诺曼姑娘跟着说。“可不是。”
老头儿补上一句：
“也象他。”
一次，他正两膝相靠坐着，眼睛半闭，一副泄气样子，他女儿壮着胆子对他说：
“父亲，您还在生他的气吗？……”
她停住了，不敢说下去。
“生谁的气？”他问。
“那可怜的马吕斯？”
他一下抬起他上了年纪的头，把他那枯皱的拳头放在桌子上，以极端暴躁洪亮的声音吼道：
“可怜的马吕斯，您说！这位先生是个怪物，是个无赖，是个没天良爱虚荣的小子，没有良心，没有灵魂，是个骄横恶劣的家伙！”
同时他把头转了过去，免得女儿看见他眼睛里的满眶老泪。
三天过后，一连四个小时没说一句话，他突然对着他的女儿说：
“我早已有过荣幸请求吉诺曼小姐永远不要向我提到他。”
吉诺曼姑娘放弃了一切意图，并作出了这一深刻的诊断：“自从我妹子干了她那件蠢事后，我父亲也就不怎么爱她了。
很明显，他厌恶马吕斯。”
所谓“自从她干了她那件蠢事”的含义就是自从她和那上校结了婚。
此外，正如人们所猜测的，吉诺曼姑娘曾试图把她宠爱的那个长矛兵军官拿来顶替马吕斯，但是没有成功。顶替人忒阿杜勒完全失败了。吉诺曼先生不同意以伪乱真。心头的空位子，不能让阿猫阿狗随便坐。在忒阿杜勒那方面，他尽管对那份遗产感兴趣，却又不喜欢曲意奉承。长矛兵见了老头，感到腻味，老头见了长矛兵，也看不顺眼。忒阿杜勒中尉当然是个快活人，不过话也多，轻佻，而且庸俗，自奉颇丰，但是交友不慎，他有不少情妇，那不假，但是吹得太多，那也不假，并且吹得不高明。所有这些优点，都各有缺点。吉诺曼先生听他大谈他在巴比伦街兵营附近的种种艳遇，连脑袋也听胀了。并且那位忒阿杜勒中尉有时还穿上军装，戴上三色帽徽来探望他。这就干脆使他无法容忍。吉诺曼公公不得不对他的女儿说：“这个忒阿杜勒已叫我受够了，要是你乐意，还是你去接待他吧。我在和平时期，不大爱见打仗的人。我不知道我究竟是喜欢耍指挥刀的人还是喜欢拖指挥刀的人。战场上刀剑的对劈声总比较不那么可怜，总而言之，总比指挥刀的套子在石板地上拖得一片响来得动听一点。并且，把胸脯鼓得象个绿林好汉，却又把腰身捆得象个小娘们儿，铁甲下穿一件女人的紧身衣，这简直是存心要闹双料笑话。当一个人是一个真正的人的时候，他就应当在大言不惭和矫揉造作之间保持相等的距离。既不夸夸其谈，也不扭捏取宠。把你那忒阿杜勒留给你自己吧。”他女儿妄费心机，还去对他说：“可他总是您的侄孙呀。”看来这吉诺曼先生，虽然从头到指甲尖都地地道道是个外祖父，却一点也不象是个叔祖父。
实际情况是，由于他有点才智，并善于比较，忒阿杜勒所起的作用，只使他更加想念马吕斯。
一天晚上，正是六月四日，这并不妨碍吉诺曼公公仍在他的壁炉里燃起一炉极好的火，他已把他的女儿打发走了，她退到隔壁屋子里去做针线活。他独自待在他那间满壁牧羊图景的卧室里，两只脚伸在炉边的铁栏上，被围在一道展成半圆形的科罗曼德尔九折大屏风的中间，深深地坐在一把锦缎大围椅里，肘弯放在桌子上（桌上的绿色遮光罩下燃着两支蜡烛），手里拿着一本书，但不在阅读。
他身上，依照他的癖好，穿一身“荒唐少年”的服装，活象加拉①的古老画像。他如果这样上街，一定会被许多人跟着起哄，因此每次出门，他女儿总给他加上一件主教穿的那种宽大的外套，把他的服装掩盖起来。他在自己家里，除了早晚起床和上床以外，从来不穿睡袍。“穿了显老。”他说。
①加拉（Garat），路易十六的司法大臣，他是督政府时期时髦人物的代表。
吉诺曼公公怀着满腔的慈爱和苦水，思念着马吕斯，但经常是苦味占上风。他那被激怒了的怨慕心情，最后总是要沸腾并转为愤慨的。他已到了准备固执到底，安心承受折磨的地步了。他这时正在对自己说，到现在，已没有理由再指望马吕斯回来，如果他要回来，早已回来了，还是死了这条心吧。他常勉强自己习惯于这个想法：一切已成泡影，此生此世不会再见“那位小爷”了。但是他的五脏六腑全造反，古老的骨肉之情也不能同意。“怎么！”他说，这是他痛苦时的口头禅，“他不回来了！”他的秃头落在胸前，眼睛迷迷矇矇地望着炉膛里的柴灰，神情忧伤而郁忿。
他正深深陷在这种梦想中时，他的老仆人巴斯克走进来问道：
“先生，能接见马吕斯先生吗？”
老人面色苍白，象个受到电击的死尸那样，突然一下，坐得直挺挺的。全身的血都回到了心房，他结结巴巴地说：
“是姓什么的马吕斯先生？”
“我不知道，”被主人的神气搞得心慌意乱的巴斯克说，“我没有看见他。刚才是妮珂莱特告诉我的，她说‘那儿有个年轻人，您就说是马吕斯先生好了。’”
吉诺曼公公低声嘟囔着：
“让他进来。”
他照原样坐着，脑袋微微颤抖，眼睛盯着房门。门又开了。
一个青年走进来。正是马吕斯。
马吕斯走到房门口，便停了下来，仿佛在等待人家叫他进去。
他的衣服，几乎破得不成样子，幸而是在遮光罩的黑影里，看不出来。人家只看见他的脸是安静严肃的，但显得异样地忧郁。
吉诺曼公公又惊又喜，傻傻地望了半晌还只能看见一团光，正如人们遇见了鬼魂那样。他几乎晕了过去，只见马吕斯周围五颜六色的光彩。那确实是他，确实是马吕斯！
终于盼到了！盼了足足四年！他现在抓着他了，可以这样说，一眨眼便把他整个儿抓住了。他觉得他美，高贵，出众，长大了，成人了，体态不凡，翩翩风度。他原想张开手臂，喊他，向他冲去，他的心融化在欢天喜地中了，多少体己话在胸中汹涌澎湃，这满腔的慈爱，却如昙花一现，话已到了唇边，但他的本性，与此格格不入，表现出来的只是冷峻无情。他粗声大气地问道：
“您来此地干什么？”
马吕斯尴尬地回答说：
“先生……”
吉诺曼先生恨不得看见马吕斯冲上来拥抱他。他恨马吕斯，也恨他自己。他感到自己粗暴，也感到马吕斯冷淡。这老人觉得自己内心是那么和善，那么愁苦，而外表却又不得不板起面孔，确是一件使人难受也使人冒火的苦恼事。他又回到苦恼中。他不待马吕斯把话说完，便以郁闷的声音问道：
“那么您为什么要来？”
这“那么”两个字的意思是“如果您不是要来拥抱我的话”。马吕斯望着他的外祖父，只见他的脸苍白得象一块云石。
“先生……”
老人仍是以严厉的声音说：
“您是来请求我原谅您的吗？您已认识您的过错了吗？”
他自以为这样能把他的心愿暗示给马吕斯，能使这“孩子”向他屈服。马吕斯浑身寒战，人家指望他的是要他否定自己的父亲，他低着眼睛回答说：
“不是，先生。”
“既然不是，您又来找我干什么？”老人声色俱厉，悲痛极了。
马吕斯扭着自己的两只手，上前一步，以微弱颤抖的声音说：
“先生，可怜我。”
这话感动了吉诺曼先生。如果早点说，这话也许能使他软下来，但是说得太迟了。老公公立了起来，双手支在手杖上，嘴唇苍白，额头颤动，但是他的高大身材高出于低着头的马吕斯。
“可怜您，先生！年纪轻轻，要一个九十一岁的老头可怜您！您刚进入人生，而我即将退出，您进戏院，赴舞会，进咖啡馆，打弹子，您有才华，您能讨女人喜欢，您是美少年，我吗，在盛夏我对着炉火吐痰，您享尽了世上的清福，我受尽了老年的活罪，病痛，孤苦！您有您的三十二颗牙、好的肠胃、明亮的眼睛、力气、胃口、健康、兴致、一头的黑发，我，我连白发也没有了，我丢了我的牙，我失去了我的腿劲，我失去了我的记忆力，有三条街的名字我老搞不清：沙洛街、麦茬街和圣克洛德街，我已到了这种地步。您有阳光灿烂的前程在您前头，我，我已开始什么也看不清了，我已进入黑暗，您在追女人，那不用说，而我，全世界没有一个人爱我了，您却要我可怜您！老天爷，莫里哀也没有想到过这一点。律师先生们，假使你们在法庭上是这样开玩笑的，我真要向你们致以衷心的祝贺。您好滑稽。”
接着，这九旬老人又以愤怒严峻的声音说：
“您究竟要我干什么？”
“先生，”马吕斯说，“我知道我来会使您不高兴，但是我来只是为了向您要求一件事，说完马上就走。”
“您是个傻瓜！”老人说。“谁说要您走呀？”
这话是他心坎上这样一句体己话的另一说法：“请我原谅就是了！快来抱住我的颈子吧！”吉诺曼先生感到马吕斯不一会儿就要离开他走了，是他的不友好的接待扫了他的兴，是他的僵硬态度在撵他走，他心里想到这一切，他的痛苦随着增加起来，他的痛苦立即又转为愤怒，他就更加硬邦邦的了。他要马吕斯领会他的意思，而马吕斯偏偏不能领会，这就使老人怒火直冒。他又说：
“怎么！您离开了我，我，您的外公，您离开了我的家，到谁知道是什么地方去，您害您那姨妈好不牵挂，您在外面，可以想象得到，那样方便多了，过单身汉的生活，吃、喝、玩、乐，要几时回家就几时回家，自己寻开心，死活都不告诉我一声，欠了债，也不叫我还，您要做个调皮捣蛋、砸人家玻璃的顽童，过了四年，您来到我家里，可又只有那么两句话跟我说！”
这种促使外孙回心转意的粗暴办法只能使马吕斯无从开口。吉诺曼先生叉起两条胳膊，他的这一姿势是特别威风凛凛的，他对马吕斯毫不留情地吼道：
“赶快结束。您来向我要求一件事，您是这样说的吧？那么，好，是什么？什么事？快说。”
“先生，”马吕斯说，他那眼神活象一个感到自己即将掉下悬崖绝壁的人，“我来请求您允许我结婚。”
吉诺曼先生打铃。巴斯克走来把房门推开了一条缝。
“把我姑娘找来。”
一秒钟过后，门又开了，吉诺曼姑娘没有进来，只是立在门口。马吕斯站着，没有说话，两手下垂，一张罪犯的脸，吉诺曼先生在屋子里来回走动。他转身对着他的女儿，向她说：
“没什么。这是马吕斯先生。向他问好。他要结婚。就是这些。你走吧。”
老人的话说得简短急促，声音嘶哑，说明他的激动达到了少见的剧烈程度。姨母神色慌张，向马吕斯望了一眼，好象不大认识他似的，没有做一个手势，也没有说一个音节，便在她父亲的叱咤声中溜走了，比狂飙吹走麦秸还快。
这时，吉诺曼公公又回到壁炉边，背靠着壁炉说道：
“您要结婚！二十一岁结婚！这是您安排好的！您只要得到许可就可以了！一个手续问题。请坐下，先生。自从我没这荣幸见到你以来，您进行了一场革命。雅各宾派占了上风。您应当感到满意了。您不是已具有男爵头衔成了共和党人吗？左右逢源，您有办法。以共和为男爵爵位的调味品。您在七月革命中得了勋章吧？您在卢浮宫里多少还吃得开吧，先生？在此地附近，两步路的地方，对着诺南迪埃街的那条圣安东尼街上，在一所房子的三层楼的墙上，嵌着一个圆炮弹，题铭上写着：一八三○年七月二十八日。您不妨去看看。效果很好。啊！他们干了不少漂亮事，您的那些朋友！还有，原来立着贝里公爵先生塑像的那个广场上，他们不是修了个喷泉吗？您说您要结婚？同谁结婚啊？请问一声同谁结婚，这不能算是冒昧吧？”
他停住了。马吕斯还没有来得及回答，他又狠巴巴地说：
“请问，您有职业了吗？您有了财产吗？在您那当律师的行业里，您能赚多少钱？”
“一文也没有，”马吕斯说，语气干脆坚定、几乎是放肆的。
“一文也没有？您就靠我给您的那一千二百利弗过活吗？”
马吕斯没有回答。吉诺曼先生接着又说：
“啊，我懂了，是因为那姑娘有钱吗？”
“她和我一样。”
“怎么！没有陪嫁的财产？”
“没有。”
“有财产继承权吗？”
“不见得有。”
“光身一个！她父亲是干什么的？”
“我不清楚。”
“她姓什么？”
“割风姑娘。”
“割什么？”
“割风。”
“呸！”老头儿说。
“先生！”马吕斯大声说。
吉诺曼先生以自言自语的声调打断了他的话。
“对，二十一岁，没有职业，每年一千二百利弗，彭眉胥男爵夫人每天到蔬菜摊上去买两个苏的香菜。”
“先生，”马吕斯眼看最后的希望也将幻灭，惊慌失措地说，“我恳切地请求您！祈求您，祈求天上的神，合着手掌，先生，我跪在您跟前，请允许我娶她，结为夫妇。”
老头儿放声狂笑，笑声尖锐凄厉，边笑边咳地说：
“哈！哈！哈！您一定对您自己说过：‘见鬼，我去找那老祖宗，那个荒谬的老糊涂！可惜我还没有满二十五岁！不然的话，我只要好好地扔给他一份征求意见书①！我就可以不管他了！没有关系，我会对他说，老呆子，我来看你，你太幸福了，我要结婚，我要娶不管是什么小姐，不管是什么人的女儿做老婆，我没有鞋子，她没有衬衣，不管，我决计把我的事业、我的前程、我的青春、我的一生全抛到水里去，颈子上挂个女人，扑通跳进苦海，这是我的志愿，你必须同意！’那个老顽固是会同意的。好嘛，我的孩子，就照你的意思办吧，拴上你的石块，去娶你那个什么吹风，什么砍风吧……不行，先生！不行！”
①按十九世纪法国法律，男子二十五岁，女子二十一岁，结婚不用家长同意，但须通过公证人正式通知家长，名为征求意见，实即通知。
“我的父亲①！”
“不行！”
①原文如此。因马吕斯是吉诺曼先生抚养大的，故书中屡次称吉诺曼先生为“父亲”。
听到他说“不行”那两个字的气势，马吕斯知道一切希望全完了。他低着脑袋，踌躇不决，慢慢儿一步一步穿过房间，好象是要离开，但更象是要死去。吉诺曼先生的眼睛一直跟着他，正在房门已开，马吕斯要出去时，他连忙以躁急任性的衰龄老人的矫健步伐向前跨上四步，一把抓住马吕斯的衣领，使尽力气，把他拖回房间，甩在一张围椅里，对他说：
“把一切经过和我谈谈。”
是马吕斯脱口而出的“我的父亲”这个词使当时形势发生了变化。
马吕斯呆呆地望着他。这时表现在吉诺曼先生那张变幻无常的脸上的，只是一种粗涩的淳厚神情。严峻的老祖宗变成慈祥的外祖父了。
“来吧，让我们看看，你说吧，把你的风流故事讲给我听听，不用拘束，全抖出来！活见鬼！年轻人全不是好东西！”
“我的父亲。”马吕斯又说。
老人的脸顿时容光焕发，说不出地满脸堆笑。
“对，没有错儿！叫我你的父亲，回头你再瞧吧。”
在当时的那种急躁气氛中，现在出现了某些现象，是那么好，那么甜，那么开朗，那么慈祥，以致处在忽然从绝望转为有望的急剧变化中的马吕斯，感到有些迷惑不解，而又欣喜若狂。他正好坐在桌子旁边，桌上的烛光，照着他那身破旧的衣服，吉诺曼先生见了，好不惊奇。
“好吧，我的父亲。”马吕斯说。
“啊呀，”吉诺曼先生打断他的话说，“难道你真的没有钱吗？你穿得象个小偷。”
他翻他的抽屉，掏出一个钱包，把它放在桌上：
“瞧，这儿有一百路易，拿去买顶帽子。”
“我的父亲，”马吕斯紧接着说，“我的好父亲，您知道我多么爱她就好了。您想不到，我第一次遇见她，是在卢森堡公园，她常去那地方，起初我并不怎么注意，随后不知怎么搞的，我竟爱上她了。呵！使我十分苦恼！现在我每天和她见面，在她家里，她父亲不知道，您想，他们就要走了；我们是在那花园里相见，天黑了以后。她父亲要把她带到英国去，这样，我才想到：‘我要去看我外公，把这事说给他听。’我首先会变成疯子，我会死，我会得一种病，我会跳水自杀。我绝对需要和她结婚，否则我会发疯。整个真实情况就是这样，我想我没有忘记什么。她住在一个花园里，有一道铁栏门，卜吕梅街。靠残废军人院那面。”
吉诺曼公公喜笑颜开地坐在马吕斯旁边。他一面听他说，欣赏他说话的声音，同时，深深地吸了一撮鼻烟。听到卜吕梅街这几个字的时候，他忽然停止吸气，让剩下的鼻烟屑落在膝头上。
“卜吕梅街！你不是说卜吕梅街吗？让我想想！靠那边不是有个兵营吗？是呀，不错，你表哥忒阿杜勒和我说过的，那个长矛兵，那个军官。一个小姑娘，我的好朋友，是个小姑娘。一点不错，卜吕梅街。从前叫做卜洛梅街。现在我完全想起来了。卜吕梅街，一道铁栏门里的一个小姑娘，我听说过的。在一个花园里。一个小家碧玉。你的眼力不错。听说她生得干干净净的。说句私话，那个傻小子长矛兵多少还对她献过殷勤呢。我不知道他进行到什么程度了。那没有多大关系。并且他的话不一定可靠。他爱吹，马吕斯！我觉得这非常好，象你这样一个青年会爱上一个姑娘。这是你这种年纪的人常有的事。我情愿你爱上一个女人，总比去当一个雅各宾派强些。我情愿你爱上一条短布裙，见他妈的鬼！哪怕二十条短布裙也好，却不希望你爱上罗伯斯庇尔。在我这方面，我说句公道话，作为无套裤汉，我唯一的爱好，只是女人。漂亮姑娘总是漂亮姑娘，还有什么可说的！不可能有反对意见。至于那个小姑娘，她瞒着她爸爸接待你。这是正当办法。我也有过这类故事，我自己。不止一次。你知道怎么办吗？做这种事，不能操之过急，不能一头栽进悲剧里去，不要谈结婚问题，不要去找斜挎着佩带的市长先生。只要傻头傻脑地做个聪明孩子。我们是有常识的人。做人要滑，不要结婚。你来找外公，外公其实是个好好先生，经常有几卷路易藏在一个老抽屉里。你对他说：‘外公，如此这般。’外公就说：‘这很简单。’青年人要过，老年人要破。我有过青年时期，你也将进入老年。好吧，我的孩子，你把这还给你的孙子就是。这里是两百皮斯托尔。寻开心去吧，好好干！再好没有了！事情是应当这样应付的。不要结婚，那还不是一样。你懂我的意思吗？”
马吕斯象个石头人，失去了说话的能力，连连摇头表示反对。
老头放声大笑，挤弄着一只老眼，在他的膝头上拍了一下，直直地望着他的眼睛，极轻微地耸着肩膀，对他说：
“傻孩子！收她做你的情妇。”
马吕斯面无人色。外祖父刚才说的那一套，他全没有听懂。他罗罗嗦嗦说到的什么卜洛梅街、小家碧玉、兵营、长矛兵，象一串幢幢黑影似的在马吕斯的眼前掠过。在这一切中，没有一件能和珂赛特扯得上，珂赛特是一朵百合花。那老头是在胡说八道。而这些胡言乱语归结到一句话，是马吕斯听懂了的，并且是对珂赛特的极尽恶毒的侮辱。“收她做你的情妇”这句话，象一把剑似的，插进了这严肃的青年人的心中。
他站起来，从地上拾起他的帽子，以坚定稳重的步伐走向房门口。到了那里，他转身向着他的外祖父，对他深深一鞠躬，昂着头，说道：
“五年前，您侮辱了我的父亲，今天，您侮辱了我的爱人。
我什么也不向您要求了，先生。从此永诀。”
吉诺曼公公被吓呆了，张着嘴，伸着手臂，想站起来，还没有来得及开口，房门已经关上，马吕斯也不见了。
老头儿好象被雷击似的，半晌动弹不得，说不出话，也不能呼吸，象有个拳头紧紧顶着他的喉咙。后来，他才使出全力从围椅里立起来，以一个九十一岁老人所能有的速度，奔向房门，开了门，放声吼道：
“救人啊！救人啊！”
他的女儿来了，跟着，仆人们也来了。他悲伤惨痛地嚎着：“快去追他！抓住他！我对他干了什么？他疯了！他走了！啊！我的天主！啊！我的天主！这一下，他不会再回来了！”
他跑向临街的那扇窗子，用他两只哆哆嗦嗦的老手开了窗，大半个身体伸到窗口外面，巴斯克和妮珂莱特从后面拖住他，他喊道：
“马吕斯！马吕斯！马吕斯！马吕斯！”
但是马吕斯已经听不见了，他在这时正转进圣路易街的拐角处。
这个年过九十的老人两次或三次把他的双手举向鬓边，神情沮丧，蹒跚后退，瘫在一张围椅里，脉搏没有了，声音没有了，眼泪没有了，脑袋摇着，嘴唇发抖，活象个呆子，在他的眼里和心里，只剩下了一些阴沉、幽远、类似黑夜的东西。
