But was it his fault?
He did not love his father?
Why should he!
The colonel had left nothing.
The sale of big furniture barely paid the expenses of his burial.
The servant found a scrap of paper, which she handed to Marius. It contained the following, in the colonel's handwriting:--
"For my son.--The Emperor made me a Baron on the battle-field of Waterloo.
Since the Restoration disputes my right to this title which I purchased with my blood, my son shall take it and bear it. That he will be worthy of it is a matter of course."
Below, the colonel had added:
"At that same battle of Waterloo, a sergeant saved my life. The man's name was Thenardier.
I think that he has recently been keeping a little inn, in a village in the neighborhood of Paris, at Chelles or Montfermeil.
If my son meets him, he will do all the good he can to Thenardier."
Marius took this paper and preserved it, not out of duty to his father, but because of that vague respect for death which is always imperious in the heart of man.
Nothing remained of the colonel.
M. Gillenormand had his sword and uniform sold to an old-clothes dealer.
The neighbors devastated the garden and pillaged the rare flowers.
The other plants turned to nettles and weeds, and died.
Marius remained only forty-eight hours at Vernon.
After the interment he returned to Paris, and applied himself again to his law studies, with no more thought of his father than if the latter had never lived. In two days the colonel was buried, and in three forgotten.
Marius wore crape on his hat.