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twelve hundred livres a year, Madame la Baronne de Pont-
mercy will go and purchase a couple of sous’ worth of parsley
from the fruiterer.’
‘Sir,’ repeated Marius, in the despair at the last hope,
which was vanishing, ‘I entreat you! I conjure you in the
name of Heaven, with clasped hands, sir, I throw myself at
your feet, permit me to marry her!’
The old man burst into a shout of strident and mournful
laughter, coughing and laughing at the same time.
‘Ah! ah! ah! You said to yourself: ‘Pardine! I’ll go hunt
up that old blockhead, that absurd numskull! What a shame
that I’m not twenty-five! How I’d treat him to a nice respect-
ful summons! How nicely I’d get along without him! It’s
nothing to me, I’d say to him: ‘You’re only too happy to see
me, you old idiot, I want to marry, I desire to wed Mamselle
No-matter-whom, daughter of Monsieur No-matter-what, I
have no shoes, she has no chemise, that just suits; I want to
throw my career, my future, my youth, my life to the dogs;
I wish to take a plunge into wretchedness with a woman
around my neck, that’s an idea, and you must consent to it!’
and the old fossil will consent.’ Go, my lad, do as you like,
attach your paving-stone, marry your Pousselevent, your
Coupelevent— Never, sir, never!’
‘Father—‘
‘Never!’
At the tone in which that ‘never’ was uttered, Marius lost
all hope. He traversed the chamber with slow steps, with
bowed head, tottering and more like a dying man than like
one merely taking his departure. M. Gillenormand followed