t 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 Bas