CHAPTER IV--AN APPARITION TO MARIUS

  Some days after this visit of a "spirit" to Farmer Mabeuf, onemorning,--it was on a Monday, the day when Marius borrowed thehundred-sou piece from Courfeyrac for Thénardier--Marius had put thiscoin in his pocket, and before carrying it to the clerk's office, hehad gone "to take a little stroll," in the hope that this would make himwork on his return. It was always thus, however. As soon as he rose, heseated himself before a book and a sheet of paper in order to scribblesome translation; his task at that epoch consisted in turning intoFrench a celebrated quarrel between Germans, the Gans and Savignycontroversy; he took Savigny, he took Gans, read four lines, tried towrite one, could not, saw a star between him and his paper, and rosefrom his chair, saying: "I shall go out. That will put me in spirits."

  And off he went to the Lark's meadow.

  There he beheld more than ever the star, and less than ever Savigny andGans.

  He returned home, tried to take up his work again, and did not succeed;there was no means of re-knotting a single one of the threads whichwere broken in his brain; then he said to himself: "I will not go outto-morrow. It prevents my working." And he went out every day.

  He lived in the Lark's meadow more than in Courfeyrac's lodgings. Thatwas his real address: Boulevard de la Santé, at the seventh tree fromthe Rue Croulebarbe.

  That morning he had quitted the seventh tree and had seated himself onthe parapet of the River des Gobelins. A cheerful sunlight penetratedthe freshly unfolded and luminous leaves.

  He was dreaming of "Her." And his meditation turning to a reproach, fellback upon himself; he reflected dolefully on his idleness, his paralysisof soul, which was gaining on him, and of that night which was growingmore dense every moment before him, to such a point that he no longereven saw the sun.

  Nevertheless, athwart this painful extrication of indistinct ideas whichwas not even a monologue, so feeble had action become in him, and hehad no longer the force to care to despair, athwart this melancholyabsorption, sensations from without did reach him. He heard behind him,beneath him, on both banks of the river, the laundresses of the Gobelinsbeating their linen, and above his head, the birds chattering andsinging in the elm-trees. On the one hand, the sound of liberty, thecareless happiness of the leisure which has wings; on the other, thesound of toil. What caused him to meditate deeply, and almost reflect,were two cheerful sounds.

  All at once, in the midst of his dejected ecstasy, he heard a familiarvoice saying:--

  "Come! Here he is!"

  He raised his eyes, and recognized that wretched child who had come tohim one morning, the elder of the Thénardier daughters, Éponine; he knewher name now. Strange to say, she had grown poorer and prettier,two steps which it had not seemed within her power to take. She hadaccomplished a double progress, towards the light and towards distress.She was barefooted and in rags, as on the day when she had so resolutelyentered his chamber, only her rags were two months older now, the holeswere larger, the tatters more sordid. It was the same harsh voice,the same brow dimmed and wrinkled with tan, the same free, wild, andvacillating glance. She had besides, more than formerly, in her facethat indescribably terrified and lamentable something which sojourn in aprison adds to wretchedness.

  She had bits of straw and hay in her hair, not like Ophelia throughhaving gone mad from the contagion of Hamlet's madness, but because shehad slept in the loft of some stable.

  And in spite of it all, she was beautiful. What a star art thou, Oyouth!

  In the meantime, she had halted in front of Marius with a trace of joyin her livid countenance, and something which resembled a smile.

  She stood for several moments as though incapable of speech.

  "So I have met you at last!" she said at length. "Father Mabeuf wasright, it was on this boulevard! How I have hunted for you! If you onlyknew! Do you know? I have been in the jug. A fortnight! They let me out!seeing that there was nothing against me, and that, moreover, I had notreached years of discretion. I lack two months of it. Oh! how I havehunted for you! These six weeks! So you don't live down there any more?"

  "No," said Marius.

  "Ah! I understand. Because of that affair. Those take-downs aredisagreeable. You cleared out. Come now! Why do you wear old hats likethis! A young man like you ought to have fine clothes. Do you know,Monsieur Marius, Father Mabeuf calls you Baron Marius, I don't knowwhat. It isn't true that you are a baron? Barons are old fellows, theygo to the Luxembourg, in front of the château, where there is the mostsun, and they read the _Quotidienne_ for a sou. I once carried a letterto a baron of that sort. He was over a hundred years old. Say, where doyou live now?"

  Marius made no reply.

  "Ah!" she went on, "you have a hole in your shirt. I must sew it up foryou."

  She resumed with an expression which gradually clouded over:--

  "You don't seem glad to see me."

  Marius held his peace; she remained silent for a moment, thenexclaimed:--

  "But if I choose, nevertheless, I could force you to look glad!"

  "What?" demanded Marius. "What do you mean?"

  "Ah! you used to call me _thou_," she retorted.

  "Well, then, what dost thou mean?"

  She bit her lips; she seemed to hesitate, as though a prey to some sortof inward conflict. At last she appeared to come to a decision.

  "So much the worse, I don't care. You have a melancholy air, I want youto be pleased. Only promise me that you will smile. I want to see yousmile and hear you say: 'Ah, well, that's good.' Poor Mr. Marius! youknow? You promised me that you would give me anything I like--"

  "Yes! Only speak!"

  She looked Marius full in the eye, and said:--

  "I have the address."

  Marius turned pale. All the blood flowed back to his heart.

  "What address?"

  "The address that you asked me to get!"

  She added, as though with an effort:--

  "The address--you know very well!"

  "Yes!" stammered Marius.

  "Of that young lady."

  This word uttered, she sighed deeply.

  Marius sprang from the parapet on which he had been sitting and seizedher hand distractedly.

  "Oh! Well! lead me thither! Tell me! Ask of me anything you wish! Whereis it?"

  "Come with me," she responded. "I don't know the street or number verywell; it is in quite the other direction from here, but I know the housewell, I will take you to it."

  She withdrew her hand and went on, in a tone which could have rentthe heart of an observer, but which did not even graze Marius in hisintoxicated and ecstatic state:--

  "Oh! how glad you are!"

  A cloud swept across Marius' brow. He seized Éponine by the arm:--

  "Swear one thing to me!"

  "Swear!" said she, "what does that mean? Come! You want me to swear?"

  And she laughed.

  "Your father! promise me, Éponine! Swear to me that you will not givethis address to your father!"

  She turned to him with a stupefied air.

  "Éponine! How do you know that my name is Éponine?"

  "Promise what I tell you!"

  But she did not seem to hear him.

  "That's nice! You have called me Éponine!"

  Marius grasped both her arms at once.

  "But answer me, in the name of Heaven! pay attention to what I am sayingto you, swear to me that you will not tell your father this address thatyou know!"

  "My father!" said she. "Ah yes, my father! Be at ease. He's in closeconfinement. Besides, what do I care for my father!"

  "But you do not promise me!" exclaimed Marius.

  "Let go of me!" she said, bursting into a laugh, "how you do shake me!Yes! Yes! I promise that! I swear that to you! What is that to me? Iwill not tell my father the address. There! Is that right? Is that it?"

  "Nor to any one?" said Marius.

  "Nor to any one."

  "Now," resumed Marius, "take me there."

  "Immediately?"

  "Immediately."

  "Come along. Ah! how pleased he is!" said she.

  After a few steps she halted.

  "You are following me too closely, Monsieur Marius. Let me go on ahead,and follow me so, without seeming to do it. A nice young man like youmust not be seen with a woman like me."

  No tongue can express all that lay in that word, _woman_, thuspronounced by that child.

  She proceeded a dozen paces and then halted once more; Marius joinedher. She addressed him sideways, and without turning towards him:--

  "By the way, you know that you promised me something?"

  Marius fumbled in his pocket. All that he owned in the world was thefive francs intended for Thénardier the father. He took them and laidthem in Éponine's hand.

  She opened her fingers and let the coin fall to the ground, and gazed athim with a gloomy air.

  "I don't want your money," said she.

  BOOK THIRD.--THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET