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with a bit of mass are the best sort. Nothing is so exquisite
as an ogle which passes over the good God’s head.’
On arriving at the church, Marius did not enter it, but
skirted the apse. He disappeared behind one of the angles
of the apse.
‘The rendezvous is appointed outside,’ said Theodule.
‘Let’s have a look at the lass.’
And he advanced on the tips of his boots towards the
corner which Marius had turned.
On arriving there, he halted in amazement.
Marius, with his forehead clasped in his hands, was
kneeling upon the grass on a grave. He had strewn his bou-
quet there. At the extremity of the grave, on a little swelling
which marked the head, there stood a cross of black wood
with this name in white letters: COLONEL BARON PONT-
MERCY. Marius’ sobs were audible.
The ‘lass’ was a grave.