eet, to the
night:

"Pierced, sabred, exterminated, slashed, hacked in pieces! Just look at
that, the villain! He knew well that I was waiting for him, and that I
had had his room arranged, and that I had placed at the head of my bed
his portrait taken when he was a little child! He knew well that he had
only to come back, and that I had been recalling him for years, and that
I remained by my fireside, with my hands on my knees, not knowing what
to do, and that I was mad over it! You knew well, that you had but to
return and to say: 'It is I,' and you would have been the master of the
house, and that I should have obeyed you, and that you could have done
whatever you pleased with your old numskull of a grandfather! you knew
that well, and you said:

"No, he is a Royalist, I will not go! And you went to the barricades,
and you got yourself killed out of malice! To revenge yourself for what
I said to you about Monsieur le Duc de Berry. It is infamous! Go to bed
then and sleep tranquilly! he is dead, and this is my awakening."

The doctor, who was beginning to be uneasy in both quarters, quitted
Marius for a moment, went to M. Gillenormand, and took his arm.
The grandfather turned round, gazed at him with eyes which seemed
exaggerated in size and bloodshot, and said to him calmly:

"I thank you, sir. I am composed, I am a man, I witnessed the death of
Louis XVI., I know how to bear events. One thing is terrible and that is
to think that it is your newspapers which do all the mischief. You will
have scribblers, chatterers, lawyers, orators, tribunes, discussions,
progress, enlightenment, the rights of man, the liberty of the press,
and this is the way that your children will be brought home to you. Ah!
Marius! It is abominable! Killed! Dead before me! A barricade! Ah, the
scamp! Doctor, you live in this quarter, I believe? Oh! I know you well.
I see your cabriolet pass my window. I am going to tell you. You are
wrong to think that I am angry. One does not fly into a rage against a
dead man. That would be stupid. This is a child whom I have reared.
I was already old while he was very young. He played in the Tuileries
garden with his little shovel and his little chair, and in order that
the inspectors might not grumble, I stopped up the holes that he made in
the earth with his shovel, with my cane. One day he exclaimed: Down with
Louis XVIII.! and off he went. It was no fault of mine. He was all rosy
and blond. His mother