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 cure, 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.