He tenderly embraced some man or other from the provinces, who was presented to him.
A circle of students formed round the table, and they spoke of the nonsense paid for by the State which was uttered from the rostrum in the Sorbonne, then the conversation fell upon the faults and omissions in Guicherat’s dictionaries and grammars.
Marius interrupted the discussion to exclaim:
“But it is very agreeable, all the same to have the cross!”
“That’s queer!” whispered Courfeyrac to Jean Prouvaire.
“No,” responded Prouvaire, “that’s serious.”
It was serious; in fact, Marius had reached that first violent and charming hour with which grand passions begin.
A glance had wrought all this.
When the mine is charged, when the conflagration is ready, nothing is more simple.
A glance is a spark.
It was all over with him.
Marius loved a woman.
His fate was entering the unknown.
The glance of women resembles certain combinations of wheels, which are tranquil in appearance yet formidable.
You pass close to them every day, peaceably and with impunity, and without a suspicion of anything.
A moment arrives when you forget that the thing is there.
You go and come, dream, speak, laugh.
All at once you feel yourself clutched; all is over.
The wheels hold you fast, the glance has ensnared you.
It has caught you, no matter where or how, by some portion of your thought which was fluttering loose, by some distraction which had attacked you.
You are lost.
The whole of you passes into it.
A chain of mysterious forces takes possession of you.
You struggle in vain; no more human succor is possible.
You go on falling from gearing to gearing, from agony to agony, from torture to torture, you, your mind, your fortune, your future, your soul; and, according to whether you are in the power of a wicked creature, or of a noble heart, you will not escape from this terrifying machine otherwise than disfigured with shame, or transfigured by passion.
CHAPTER VII—ADVENTURES OF THE LETTER U DELIVERED OVER TO CONJECTURES
Isolation, detachment, from everything, pride, independence, the taste of nature, the absence of daily and material activity, the life within himself, the secret conflicts of chastity, a benevolent ecstasy towards all creation, had prepared Marius for this possession which is called passion.
His worship of his father had gradually become a religion, and, like all religions, it had retreated to the depths of his soul.
Something was required in the foreground.
Love came.
A full month elapsed, during which Marius went every day to the Luxembourg.
When the hour arrived, nothing could hold him back.—“He is on duty,” said Courfeyrac.
Marius lived in a state of delight.
It is certain that the young girl did look at him.
He had finally grown bold, and approached the bench.
Still, he did not pass in front of it any more, in obedience to the instinct of timidity and to the instinct of prudence common to lovers.
He considered it better not to attract “the attention of the father.”
He combined his stations behind the trees and the pedestals of the statues with a profound diplomacy, so that he might be seen as much as possible by the young girl and as little as possible by the old gentleman.
Sometimes, he remained motionless by the half-hour together in the shade of a Leonidas or a Spartacus, holding in his hand a book, above which his eyes, gently raised, sought the beautiful girl, and she, on her side, turned her charming profile towards him with a vague smile.
While conversing in the most natural and tranquil manner in the world with the white-haired man, she bent upon Marius all the reveries of a virginal and passionate eye.
Ancient and time-honored man?uvre which Eve understood from the very first day of the world, and which every woman understands from the very first day of her life! her mouth replied to one, and her glance replied to another.
It must be supposed, that M. Leblanc finally noticed something, for often, when Marius arrived, he rose and began to walk about.
He had abandoned their accustomed place and had adopted the bench by the Gladiator, near the other end of the walk, as though with the object of seeing whether Marius would pursue them thither.
Marius did not understand, and committed this error.
“The father” began to grow inexact, and no longer brought “his daughter” every day.
Sometimes, he came alone.
Then Marius did not stay. Another blunder.
Marius paid no heed to these symptoms.
From the phase of timidity, he had passed, by a natural and fatal progress, to the phase of blindness.
His love increased.