,--but who made some little guess at everything,--that was
his nature,--had begun by congratulating him on being in love, though he
was amazed at it; then, seeing Marius fall into this melancholy state,
he ended by saying to him: "I see that you have been simply an animal.
Here, come to the Chaumiere."

Once, having confidence in a fine September sun, Marius had allowed
himself to be taken to the ball at Sceaux by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and
Grantaire, hoping, what a dream! that he might, perhaps, find her there.
Of course he did not see the one he sought.--"But this is the place,
all the same, where all lost women are found," grumbled Grantaire in an
aside. Marius left his friends at the ball and returned home on foot,
alone, through the night, weary, feverish, with sad and troubled eyes,
stunned by the noise and dust of the merry wagons filled with singing
creatures on their way home from the feast, which passed close to
him, as he, in his discouragement, breathed in the acrid scent of the
walnut-trees, along the road, in order to refresh his head.

He took to living more and more alone, utterly overwhelmed, wholly given
up to his inward anguish, going and coming in his pain like the wolf in
the trap, seeking the absent one everywhere, stupefied by love.

On another occasion, he had an encounter which produced on him a
singular effect. He met, in the narrow streets in the vicinity of the
Boulevard des Invalides, a man dressed like a workingman and wearing a
cap with a long visor, which allowed a glimpse of locks of very
white hair. Marius was struck with the beauty of this white hair, and
scrutinized the man, who was walking slowly and as though absorbed in
painful meditation. Strange to say, he thought that he recognized M.
Leblanc. The hair was the same, also the profile, so far as the cap
permitted a view of it, the mien identical, only more depressed. But why
these workingman's clothes? What was the meaning of this? What signified
that disguise? Marius was greatly astonished. When he recovered himself,
his first impulse was to follow the man; who knows whether he did not
hold at last the clue which he was seeking? In any case, he must see the
man near at hand, and clear up the mystery. But the idea occurred to him
too late, the man was no longer there. He had turned into some little
side street, and Marius could not find him. This encounter occupied
his mind for three days and then was effaced. "After all," he said