"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 and thrust it into his pocket. Marius might have set out that very evening and have been with his father on the following morning.
A diligence from the Rue du Bouloi took the trip to Rouen by night at that date, and passed through Vernon.
Neither Marius nor M.Gillenormand thought of making inquiries about it.
The next day, at twilight, Marius reached Vernon.
People were just beginning to light their candles.