but a carefully folded paper.

"From the same to the same," said M. Gillenormand, bursting with
laughter. "I know what it is. A billet-doux."

"Ah! let us read it!" said the aunt.

And she put on her spectacles. They unfolded the paper and read as
follows:--

"For my son.--The Emperor made me a Baron on the battlefield of
Waterloo. Since the Restoration disputes my right to this title which I
purchased with my blood, my son shall take it and bear it. That he will
be worthy of it is a matter of course."

The feelings of father and daughter cannot be described. They felt
chilled as by the breath of a death's-head. They did not exchange a
word.

Only, M. Gillenormand said in a low voice and as though speaking to
himself:--

"It is the slasher's handwriting."

The aunt examined the paper, turned it about in all directions, then put
it back in its case.

At the same moment a little oblong packet, enveloped in blue paper, fell
from one of the pockets of the great-coat. Mademoiselle Gillenormand
picked it up and unfolded the blue paper.

It contained Marius' hundred cards. She handed one of them to M.
Gillenormand, who read: Le Baron Marius Pontmercy.

The old man rang the bell. Nicolette came. M. Gillenormand took the
ribbon, the case, and the coat, flung them all on the floor in the
middle of the room, and said:--

"Carry those duds away."

A full hour passed in the most profound silence. The old man and the old
spinster had seated themselves with their backs to each other, and were
thinking, each on his own account, the same things, in all probability.

At the expiration of this hour, Aunt Gillenormand said:--"A pretty state
of things!"

A few moments later, Marius made his appearance. He entered. Even before
he had crossed the threshold, he saw his grandfather holding one of
his own cards in his hand, and on catching sight of him, the latter
exclaimed with his air of bourgeois and grinning superiority which was
something crushing:--

"Well! well! well! well! well! so you are a baron now. I present you my
compliments. What is the meaning of this?"

Marius reddened slightly and replied:--

"It means that I am the son of my father."

M. Gillenormand ceased to laugh, and said harshly:--

"I am your father."

"My father," retorted Marius, with downcast eyes and a severe air, "was
a humble and heroic man, who served the Republic and France gloriously,
who was great in the greatest history that men ha