الفصل الفصل 173 · THE UTILITY OF GOING TO MASS, IN ORDER TO BECOME A

REVOLUTIONIST

Marius had preserved the religious habits of his childhood. One Sunday,

when he went to hear mass at Saint-Sulpice, at that same chapel of the

Virgin whither his aunt had led him when a small lad, he placed himself

behind a pillar, being more absent-minded and thoughtful than usual on

that occasion, and knelt down, without paying any special heed, upon a

chair of Utrecht velvet, on the back of which was inscribed this name:

_Monsieur Mabeuf, warden_. Mass had hardly begun when an old man

presented himself and said to Marius:—

“This is my place, sir.”

Marius stepped aside promptly, and the old man took possession of his

chair.

The mass concluded, Marius still stood thoughtfully a few paces

distant; the old man approached him again and said:—

“I beg your pardon, sir, for having disturbed you a while ago, and for

again disturbing you at this moment; you must have thought me

intrusive, and I will explain myself.”

“There is no need of that, Sir,” said Marius.

“Yes!” went on the old man, “I do not wish you to have a bad opinion of

me. You see, I am attached to this place. It seems to me that the mass

is better from here. Why? I will tell you. It is from this place, that

I have watched a poor, brave father come regularly, every two or three

months, for the last ten years, since he had no other opportunity and

no other way of seeing his child, because he was prevented by family

arrangements. He came at the hour when he knew that his son would be

brought to mass. The little one never suspected that his father was

there. Perhaps he did not even know that he had a father, poor

innocent! The father kept behind a pillar, so that he might not be

seen. He gazed at his child and he wept. He adored that little fellow,

poor man! I could see that. This spot has become sanctified in my

sight, and I have contracted a habit of coming hither to listen to the

mass. I prefer it to the stall to which I have a right, in my capacity

of warden. I knew that unhappy gentleman a little, too. He had a

father-in-law, a wealthy aunt, relatives, I don’t know exactly what

all, who threatened to disinherit the child if he, the father, saw him.

He sacrificed himself in order that his son might be rich and happy

some day. He was separated from him because of political opinions.

Certainly, I approve of political opinions, but there are people who do

not know where to stop. Mon Dieu! a man is not a monster because he was

at Waterloo; a father is not separated from his child for such a reason

as that. He was one of Bonaparte’s colonels. He is dead, I believe. He

lived at Vernon, where I have a brother who is a curé, and his name was

something like Pontmarie or Montpercy. He had a fine sword-cut, on my

honor.”

“Pontmercy,” suggested Marius, turning pale.

“Precisely, Pontmercy. Did you know him?”

“Sir,” said Marius, “he was my father.”

The old warden clasped his hands and exclaimed:—

“Ah! you are the child! Yes, that’s true, he must be a man by this

time. Well! poor child, you may say that you had a father who loved you

dearly!”

Marius offered his arm to the old man and conducted him to his

lodgings.

On the following day, he said to M. Gillenormand:—

“I have arranged a hunting-party with some friends. Will you permit me

to be absent for three days?”

“Four!” replied his grandfather. “Go and amuse yourself.”

And he said to his daughter in a low tone, and with a wink, “Some love

affair!”