The conclusion of Marius’ classical studies coincided with M. Gillenormand’s departure from society. The old man bade farewell to the Faubourg Saint-Germain and to Madame de T. ’s salon, and established himself in the Marais, in his house of the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire.
There he had for servants, in addition to the porter, that chambermaid, Nicolette, who had succeeded to Magnon, and that short-breathed and pursy Basque, who have been mentioned above. In 1827, Marius had just attained his seventeenth year.
One evening, on his return home, he saw his grandfather holding a letter in his hand. 'Marius,' said M. Gillenormand, 'you will set out for Vernon to-morrow. ' 'Why? ' said Marius. 'To see your father. ' Marius was seized with a trembling fit.
He had thought of everything except this—that he should one day be called upon to see his father. Nothing could be more unexpected, more surprising, and, let us admit it, more disagreeable to him. It was forcing estrangement into reconciliation.
It was not an affliction, but it was an unpleasant duty. Marius, in addition to his motives of political antipathy, was convinced that his father, the slasher, as M. Gillenormand called him on his amiable days, did not love him; this was evident, since he had abandoned him to others.
Feeling that he was not beloved, he did not love. 'Nothing is more simple,' he said to himself. He was so astounded that he did not question M. Gillenormand. The grandfather resumed:— 'It appears that he is ill. He demands your presence.
' And after a pause, he added:— 'Set out to-morrow morning. I think there is a coach which leaves the Cour des Fontaines at six o’clock, and which arrives in the evening. Take it. He says that here is haste. ' Then he crushed the letter in his hand