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_ Marius was, at this epoch, a handsome young man, of medium stature,
with thick and intensely black hair, a lofty and intelligent brow,
well-opened and passionate nostrils, an air of calmness and sincerity,
and with something indescribably proud, thoughtful, and innocent
over his whole countenance. His profile, all of whose lines
were rounded, without thereby losing their firmness, had a certain
Germanic sweetness, which has made its way into the French physiognomy
by way of Alsace and Lorraine, and that complete absence of angles
which rendered the Sicambres so easily recognizable among the Romans,
and which distinguishes the leonine from the aquiline race.
He was at that period of life when the mind of men who think
is composed, in nearly equal parts, of depth and ingenuousness.
A grave situation being given, he had all that is required to
be stupid: one more turn of the key, and he might be sublime.
His manners were reserved, cold, polished, not very genial.
As his mouth was charming, his lips the reddest, and his teeth the
whitest in the world, his smile corrected the severity of his face,
as a whole. At certain moments, that pure brow and that voluptuous
smile presented a singular contrast. His eyes were small, but his
glance was large.
At the period of his most abject misery, he had observed that
young girls turned round when he passed by, and he fled or hid,
with death in his soul. He thought that they were staring at him
because of his old clothes, and that they were laughing at them;
the fact is, that they stared at him because of his grace, and that
they dreamed of him.
This mute misunderstanding between him and the pretty passers-by
had made him shy. He chose none of them for the excellent reason
that he fled from all of them. He lived thus indefinitely,--
stupidly, as Courfeyrac said.
Courfeyrac also said to him: "Do not aspire to be venerable"
[they called each other thou; it is the tendency of youthful
friendships to slip into this mode of address]. "Let me give you
a piece of advice, my dear fellow. Don't read so many books,
and look a little more at the lasses. The jades have some good
points about them, O Marius! By dint of fleeing and blushing,
you will become brutalized."
On other occasions, Courfeyrac encountered him and said:--"Good morning,
Monsieur l'Abbe!"
When Courfeyrac had addressed to him some remark of this nature,
Marius avoided women, both young and old, more than ever for a week
to come, and he avoided Courfeyrac to boot.
Nevertheless, there existed in all the immensity of creation, two women
whom Marius did not flee, and to whom he paid no attention whatever.
In truth, he would have been very much amazed if he had been informed
that they were women. One was the bearded old woman who swept
out his chamber, and caused Courfeyrac to say: "Seeing that his
servant woman wears his beard, Marius does not wear his own beard."
The other was a sort of little girl whom he saw very often,
and whom he never looked at.
For more than a year, Marius had noticed in one of the walks of
the Luxembourg, the one which skirts the parapet of the Pepiniere,
a man and a very young girl, who were almost always seated side
by side on the same bench, at the most solitary end of the alley,
on the Rue de l'Ouest side. Every time that that chance which
meddles with the strolls of persons whose gaze is turned inwards,
led Marius to that walk,--and it was nearly every day,--he found
this couple there. The man appeared to be about sixty years of age;
he seemed sad and serious; his whole person presented the robust
and weary aspect peculiar to military men who have retired from
the service. If he had worn a decoration, Marius would have said:
"He is an ex-officer." He had a kindly but unapproachable air,
and he never let his glance linger on the eyes of any one.
He wore blue trousers, a blue frock coat and a broad-brimmed hat,
which always appeared to be new, a black cravat, a quaker shirt,
that is to say, it was dazzlingly white, but of coarse linen. A grisette
who passed near him one day, said: "Here's a very tidy widower."
His hair was very white.
The first time that the young girl who accompanied him came and
seated herself on the bench which they seemed to have adopted,
she was a sort of child thirteen or fourteen years of age, so thin
as to be almost homely, awkward, insignificant, and with a possible
promise of handsome eyes. Only, they were always raised with a sort
of displeasing assurance. Her dress was both aged and childish,
like the dress of the scholars in a convent; it consisted of a
badly cut gown of black merino. They had the air of being father
and daughter.
Marius scanned this old man, who was not yet aged, and this little girl,
who was not yet a person, for a few days, and thereafter paid no
attention to them. They, on their side, did not appear even to see him.
They conversed together with a peaceful and indifferent air. The girl
chattered incessantly and merrily. The old man talked but little, and,
at times, he fixed on her eyes overflowing with an ineffable paternity.
Marius had acquired the mechanical habit of strolling in that walk.
He invariably found them there.
This is the way things went:--
Marius liked to arrive by the end of the alley which was furthest
from their bench; he walked the whole length of the alley, passed in
front of them, then returned to the extremity whence he had come,
and began again. This he did five or six times in the course
of his promenade, and the promenade was taken five or six times
a week, without its having occurred to him or to these people
to exchange a greeting. That personage, and that young girl,
although they appeared,--and perhaps because they appeared,--
to shun all glances, had, naturally, caused some attention on the
part of the five or six students who strolled along the Pepiniere
from time to time; the studious after their lectures, the others
after their game of billiards. Courfeyrac, who was among the last,
had observed them several times, but, finding the girl homely,
he had speedily and carefully kept out of the way. He had fled,
discharging at them a sobriquet, like a Parthian dart.
Impressed solely with the child's gown and the old man's hair,
he had dubbed the daughter Mademoiselle Lanoire, and the father,
Monsieur Leblanc, so that as no one knew them under any other title,
this nickname became a law in the default of any other name.
The students said: "Ah! Monsieur Leblanc is on his bench."
And Marius, like the rest, had found it convenient to call this
unknown gentleman Monsieur Leblanc.
We shall follow their example, and we shall say M. Leblanc,
in order to facilitate this tale.
So Marius saw them nearly every day, at the same hour, during the
first year. He found the man to his taste, but the girl insipid. _
Read next: VOLUME III: BOOK SIXTH - THE CONJUNCTION OF TWO STARS: CHAPTER II. Lux Facta Est
Read previous: VOLUME III: BOOK FIFTH - THE EXCELLENCE OF MISFORTUNE: CHAPTER VI. The Substitute
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