oor."

Another step gained. This success emboldened Marius.

"On the front?" he asked.

"Parbleu!" said the porter, "the house is only built on the street."

"And what is that gentleman's business?" began Marius again.

"He is a gentleman of property, sir. A very kind man who does good to
the unfortunate, though not rich himself."

"What is his name?" resumed Marius.

The porter raised his head and said:--

"Are you a police spy, sir?"

Marius went off quite abashed, but delighted. He was getting on.

"Good," thought he, "I know that her name is Ursule, that she is the
daughter of a gentleman who lives on his income, and that she lives
there, on the third floor, in the Rue de l'Ouest."

On the following day, M. Leblanc and his daughter made only a very
brief stay in the Luxembourg; they went away while it was still broad
daylight. Marius followed them to the Rue de l'Ouest, as he had taken up
the habit of doing. On arriving at the carriage entrance M. Leblanc made
his daughter pass in first, then paused, before crossing the threshold,
and stared intently at Marius.

On the next day they did not come to the Luxembourg. Marius waited for
them all day in vain.

At nightfall, he went to the Rue de l'Ouest, and saw a light in the
windows of the third story.

He walked about beneath the windows until the light was extinguished.

The next day, no one at the Luxembourg. Marius waited all day, then went
and did sentinel duty under their windows. This carried him on to ten
o'clock in the evening.

His dinner took care of itself. Fever nourishes the sick man, and love
the lover.

He spent a week in this manner. M. Leblanc no longer appeared at the
Luxembourg.

Marius indulged in melancholy conjectures; he dared not watch the porte
cochere during the day; he contented himself with going at night to gaze
upon the red light of the windows. At times he saw shadows flit across
them, and his heart began to beat.

On the eighth day, when he arrived under the windows, there was no light
in them.

"Hello!" he said, "the lamp is not lighted yet. But it is dark. Can they
have gone out?" He waited until ten o'clock. Until midnight. Until one
in the morning. Not a light appeared in the windows of the third story,
and no one entered the house.

He went away in a very gloomy frame of mind.

On the morrow,--for he only existed from morrow to morrow, there was,
so to speak, no to-day for him,--on the morrow, he found n