same battle of Waterloo, a sergeant saved my life. The man's
name was Thenardier. I think that he has recently been keeping a
little inn, in a village in the neighborhood of Paris, at Chelles or
Montfermeil. If my son meets him, he will do all the good he can to
Thenardier."

Marius took this paper and preserved it, not out of duty to his father,
but because of that vague respect for death which is always imperious in
the heart of man.

Nothing remained of the colonel. M. Gillenormand had his sword and
uniform sold to an old-clothes dealer. The neighbors devastated the
garden and pillaged the rare flowers. The other plants turned to nettles
and weeds, and died.

Marius remained only forty-eight hours at Vernon. After the interment he
returned to Paris, and applied himself again to his law studies, with
no more thought of his father than if the latter had never lived. In two
days the colonel was buried, and in three forgotten.

Marius wore crape on his hat. That was all.

CHAPTER V--THE UTILITY OF GOING TO MASS, IN ORDER TO BECOME A
REVOLUTIONIST

Marius had preserved the religious habits of his childhood. One Sunday,
when he went to hear mass at Saint-Sulpice, at that same chapel of the
Virgin whither his aunt had led him when a small lad, he placed himself
behind a pillar, being more absent-minded and thoughtful than usual on
that occasion, and knelt down, without paying any special heed, upon a
chair of Utrecht velvet, on the back of which was inscribed this name:
Monsieur Mabeuf, warden. Mass had hardly begun when an old man presented
himself and said to Marius:--

"This is my place, sir."

Marius stepped aside promptly, and the old man took possession of his
chair.

The mass concluded, Marius still stood thoughtfully a few paces distant;
the old man approached him again and said:--

"I beg your pardon, sir, for having disturbed you a while ago, and for
again disturbing you at this moment; you must have thought me intrusive,
and I will explain myself."

"There is no need of that, Sir," said Marius.

"Yes!" went on the old man, "I do not wish you to have a bad opinion of
me. You see, I am attached to this place. It seems to me that the mass
is better from here. Why? I will tell you. It is from this place, that
I have watched a poor, brave father come regularly, every two or three
months, for the last ten years, since he had no other opportunity and
no other way of seeing his child, because he was