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we have been without a morsel of bread for two days, four
persons and my spouse ill. If I am not deseaved in my opin-
ion, I think I may hope that your generous heart will melt at
this statement and the desire will subjugate you to be propi-
tious to me by daigning to lavish on me a slight favor.
I am with the distinguished
consideration which is due to the benefactors of humanity,—
Jondrette.
P.S. My eldest daughter will await your orders, dear
Monsieur Marius.
This letter, coming in the very midst of the mysterious
adventure which had occupied Marius’ thoughts ever since
the preceding evening, was like a candle in a cellar. All was
suddenly illuminated.
This letter came from the same place as the other four.
There was the same writing, the same style, the same or-
thography, the same paper, the same odor of tobacco.
There were five missives, five histories, five signatures,
and a single signer. The Spanish Captain Don Alvares, the
unhappy Mistress Balizard, the dramatic poet Genflot, the
old comedian Fabantou, were all four named Jondrette, if,
indeed, Jondrette himself were named Jondrette.
Marius had lived in the house for a tolerably long time,
and he had had, as we have said, but very rare occasion to
see, to even catch a glimpse of, his extremely mean neigh-
bors. His mind was elsewhere, and where the mind is, there
the eyes are also. He had been obliged more than once to
pass the Jondrettes in the corridor or on the stairs; but they
were mere forms to him; he had paid so little heed to them,