On one of the last days of the second week, Marius was seated on his bench, as usual, holding in his hand an open book, of which he had not turned a page for the last two hours. All at once he started.
An event was taking place at the other extremity of the walk. Leblanc and his daughter had just left their seat, and the daughter had taken her father’s arm, and both were advancing slowly, towards the middle of the alley where Marius was.
Marius closed his book, then opened it again, then forced himself to read; he trembled; the aureole was coming straight towards him. 'Ah! good Heavens! ' thought he, 'I shall not have time to strike an attitude. ' Still the white-haired man and the girl advanced.
It seemed to him that this lasted for a century, and that it was but a second. 'What are they coming in this direction for? ' he asked himself. 'What! She will pass here? Her feet will tread this sand, this walk, two paces from me?
' He was utterly upset, he would have liked to be very handsome, he would have liked to own the cross. He heard the soft and measured sound of their approaching footsteps. He imagined that M. Leblanc was darting angry glances at him. 'Is that gentleman going to address me?
' he thought to himself. He dropped his head; when he raised it again, they were very near him. The young girl passed, and as she passed, she glanced at him. She gazed steadily at him, with a pensive sweetness which thrilled Marius from head to foot.
It seemed to him that she was reproaching him for having allowed so long a time to elapse without coming as far as her, and that she was saying to