2.M.8.11. OFFERS OF SERVICE FROM MISERY TO WRETCHEDNESS
MARIUS ascended the stairs of the hovel with slow steps; at
the moment when he was about to re-enter his cell, he caught
sight of the elder Jondrette girl following him through the
corridor. The very sight of this girl was odious to him; it was
she who had his five francs, it was too late to demand them
back, the cab was no longer there, the fiacre was far away.
Moreover, she would not have given them back. As for
questioning her about the residence of the persons who had
just been there, that was useless; it was evident that she did
not know, since the letter signed Fabantou had been addressed
"to the benevolent gentleman of the church of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas."
Marius entered his room and pushed the door to after him.
It did not close; he turned round and beheld a hand which
held the door half open.
"What is it?" he asked, "who is there?"
It was the Jondrette girl.
"Is it you?" resumed Marius almost harshly, "still you!
What do you want with me?"
She appeared to be thoughtful and did not look at him.
She no longer had the air of assurance which had characterized
her that morning. She did not enter, but held back in
the darkness of the corridor, where Marius could see her
through the half-open door.
"Come now, will you answer?" cried Marius. "What do
you want with me?"
She raised her dull eyes, in which a sort of gleam seemed
to
flicker vaguely, and said: —
"Monsieur Marius, you look sad. What is the matter with
you?"
"With me!" said Marius.
"Yes, you."
"There is nothing the matter with me."
"Yes, there is!"
"No."
"I tell you there is!"
"Let me alone!"
Marius gave the door another push, but she retained her
hold on it.
"Stop," said she, "you are in the wrong. Although you are
not rich, you were kind this morning. Be so again now. You
gave me something to eat, now tell me what ails you. You are
grieved, that is plain. I do not want you to be grieved. What
can be done for it? Can I be of any service? Employ me. I
do not ask for your secrets, you need not tell them to me, but
I may be of use, nevertheless. I may be able to help you,
since I help my father. When it is necessary to carry letters,
to go to houses, to inquire from door to door, to find out an
address, to follow any one, I am of service. Well, you may
assuredly tell me what is the matter with you, and I will go
and speak to the persons; sometimes it is enough if some
one speaks to the persons, that suffices to let them understand
matters, and everything comes right. Make use of me."
An idea flashed across Marius' mind. What branch does
one disdain when one feels that one is falling?
He drew near to the Jondrette girl.
"Listen — " he said to her.
She interrupted him with a gleam of joy in her eyes.
"Oh yes, do call me thou! I like that better."
"Well," he resumed, "thou hast brought hither that old
gentleman and his daughter!"
"Yes."
"Dost thou know their address?"
"No."
"Find it for me."
The Jondrette's dull eyes had grown joyous, and they now
became gloomy.
"Is that what you want?" she demanded.
"Yes."
"Do you know them?"
"No."
"That is to say," she resumed quickly, "you do not know
her, but you wish to know her."
This them which had turned into her had
something indescribably
significant and bitter about it.
"Well, can you do it?" said Marius.
"You shall have the beautiful lady's address."
There was still a shade in the words "the beautiful lady"
which troubled Marius. He resumed: —
"Never mind, after all, the address of the father and
daughter. Their address, indeed!"
She gazed fixedly at him.
"What will you give me?"
"Anything you like."
"Anything I like?"
"Yes."
"You shall have the address."
She dropped her head; then, with a brusque movement, she
pulled to the door, which closed behind her.
Marius found himself alone.
He dropped into a chair, with his head and both elbows on
his bed, absorbed in thoughts which he could not grasp, and as
though a prey to vertigo. All that had taken place since the
morning, the appearance of the angel, her disappearance,
what that creature had just said to him, a gleam of hope
floating in an immense despair, — this was what filled his brain
confusedly.
All at once he was violently aroused from his revery.
He heard the shrill, hard voice of Jondrette utter these
words, which were fraught with a strange interest for him: —
"I tell you that I am sure of it, and that I recognized
him."
Of whom was Jondrette speaking? Whom had he recognized?
M. Leblanc? The father of "his Ursule"? What!
Did Jondrette know him? Was Marius about to obtain in
this abrupt and unexpected fashion all the information without
which his life was so dark to him? Was he about to learn
at last who it was that he loved, who that young girl was?
Who her father was? Was the dense shadow which enwrapped
them on the point of being dispelled? Was the veil about to
be rent? Ah! Heavens!
He bounded rather than climbed upon his commode, and
resumed his post near the little peep-hole in the partition wall.
Again he beheld the interior of Jondrette's hovel.