الفصل الفصل 197 · ECLIPSE

The reader has just seen how Marius discovered, or thought that he

discovered, that _She_ was named Ursule.

Appetite grows with loving. To know that her name was Ursule was a

great deal; it was very little. In three or four weeks, Marius had

devoured this bliss. He wanted another. He wanted to know where she

lived.

He had committed his first blunder, by falling into the ambush of the

bench by the Gladiator. He had committed a second, by not remaining at

the Luxembourg when M. Leblanc came thither alone. He now committed a

third, and an immense one. He followed “Ursule.”

She lived in the Rue de l’Ouest, in the most unfrequented spot, in a

new, three-story house, of modest appearance.

From that moment forth, Marius added to his happiness of seeing her at

the Luxembourg the happiness of following her home.

His hunger was increasing. He knew her first name, at least, a charming

name, a genuine woman’s name; he knew where she lived; he wanted to

know who she was.

One evening, after he had followed them to their dwelling, and had seen

them disappear through the carriage gate, he entered in their train and

said boldly to the porter:—

“Is that the gentleman who lives on the first floor, who has just come

in?”

“No,” replied the porter. “He is the gentleman on the third floor.”

Another step gained. This success emboldened Marius.

“On the front?” he asked.

“Parbleu!” said the porter, “the house is only built on the street.”

“And what is that gentleman’s business?” began Marius again.

“He is a gentleman of property, sir. A very kind man who does good to

the unfortunate, though not rich himself.”

“What is his name?” resumed Marius.

The porter raised his head and said:—

“Are you a police spy, sir?”

Marius went off quite abashed, but delighted. He was getting on.

“Good,” thought he, “I know that her name is Ursule, that she is the

daughter of a gentleman who lives on his income, and that she lives

there, on the third floor, in the Rue de l’Ouest.”

On the following day, M. Leblanc and his daughter made only a very

brief stay in the Luxembourg; they went away while it was still broad

daylight. Marius followed them to the Rue de l’Ouest, as he had taken

up the habit of doing. On arriving at the carriage entrance M. Leblanc

made his daughter pass in first, then paused, before crossing the

threshold, and stared intently at Marius.

On the next day they did not come to the Luxembourg. Marius waited for

them all day in vain.

At nightfall, he went to the Rue de l’Ouest, and saw a light in the

windows of the third story.

He walked about beneath the windows until the light was extinguished.

The next day, no one at the Luxembourg. Marius waited all day, then

went and did sentinel duty under their windows. This carried him on to

ten o’clock in the evening.

His dinner took care of itself. Fever nourishes the sick man, and love

the lover.

He spent a week in this manner. M. Leblanc no longer appeared at the

Luxembourg.

Marius indulged in melancholy conjectures; he dared not watch the

porte-cochère during the day; he contented himself with going at night

to gaze upon the red light of the windows. At times he saw shadows flit

across them, and his heart began to beat.

On the eighth day, when he arrived under the windows, there was no

light in them.

“Hello!” he said, “the lamp is not lighted yet. But it is dark. Can

they have gone out?” He waited until ten o’clock. Until midnight. Until

one in the morning. Not a light appeared in the windows of the third

story, and no one entered the house.

He went away in a very gloomy frame of mind.

On the morrow,—for he only existed from morrow to morrow, there was, so

to speak, no to-day for him,—on the morrow, he found no one at the

Luxembourg; he had expected this. At dusk, he went to the house.

No light in the windows; the shades were drawn; the third floor was

totally dark.

Marius rapped at the porte-cochère, entered, and said to the porter:—

“The gentleman on the third floor?”

“Has moved away,” replied the porter.

Marius reeled and said feebly:—

“How long ago?”

“Yesterday.”

“Where is he living now?”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“So he has not left his new address?”

“No.”

And the porter, raising his eyes, recognized Marius.

“Come! So it’s you!” said he; “but you are decidedly a spy then?”

BOOK SEVENTH—PATRON MINETTE