That is what I do know！Whether Monsieur your father comes in that category，I do not know！I am sorry for it，so much the worse，your humble servant！'
In his turn，it was Marius who was the firebrand and M.Gillenormand who was the bellows.
Marius quivered in every limb，he did not know what would happen next，his brain was on fire.
He was the priest who beholds all his sacred wafers cast to the winds，the fakir who beholds a passer-by spit upon his idol.
It could not be that such things had been uttered in his presence.What was he to do？
His father had just been trampled under foot and stamped upon in his presence，but by whom？
By his grandfather.How was he to avenge the one without outraging the other？It was impossible for him to insult his grandfather and it was equally impossible for him to leave his father unavenged.On the one hand was a sacred grave，on the other hoary locks.
He stood there for several moments，staggering as though intoxicated，with all this whirlwind dashing through his head；then he raised his eyes，gazed fixedly at his grandfather，and cried in a voice of thunder：——
'Down with the Bourbons，and that great hog of a Louis XVIII.！'
Louis XVIII.
had been dead for four years；but it was all the same to him.
The old man，who had been crimson，turned whiter than his hair.He wheeled round towards a bust of M.le Duc de Berry，which stood on the chimney-piece，and made a profound bow，with a sort of peculiar majesty.
Then he paced twice，slowly and in silence，from the fireplace to the window and from the window to the fireplace，traversing the whole length of the room，and ****** the polished floor creak as though he had been a stone statue walking.
On his second turn，he bent over his daughter，who was watching this encounter with the stupefied air of an antiquated lamb，and said to her with a smile that was almost calm：
'A baron like this gentleman，and a bourgeois like myself cannot remain under the same roof.'
And drawing himself up，all at once，pallid，trembling，terrible，with his brow rendered more lofty by the terrible radiance of wrath，he extended his arm towards Marius and shouted to him：——
'Be off！'
Marius left the house.
On the following day，M.Gillenormand said to his daughter：
'You will send sixty pistoles every six months to that blood-drinker，and you will never mention his name to me.'
Having an immense reserve fund of wrath to get rid of，and not knowing what to do with it，he continued to address his daughter as you instead of thou for the next three months.
Marius，on his side，had gone forth in indignation.
There was one circumstance which，it must be admitted，aggravated his exasperation.There are always petty fatalities of the sort which complicate domestic dramas.
They augment the grievances in such cases，although，in reality，the wrongs are not increased by them.While carrying Marius''duds'precipitately to his chamber，at his grandfather's command，Nicolette had，inadvertently，let fall，probably，on the attic staircase，which was dark，that medallion of black shagreen which contained the paper penned by the colonel.Neither paper nor case could afterwards be found.
Marius was convinced that'Monsieur Gillenormand'——from that day forth he never alluded to him otherwise——had flung'his father's testament'in the fire.
He knew by heart the few lines which the colonel had written，and，consequently，nothing was lost.
But the paper，the writing，that sacred relic，——all that was his very heart.What had been done with it？
Marius had taken his departure without saying whither he was going，and without knowing where，with thirty francs，his watch，and a few clothes in a hand-bag.He had entered a hackney-coach，had engaged it by the hour，and had directed his course at hap-hazard towards the Latin quarter.
What was to become of Marius？
BOOK FOURTH.——THE FRIENDS OF THE A B C
Ⅰ A GROUP WHICH BARELY MISSED BECOMING HISTORIC
At that epoch，which was，to all appearances indifferent，a certain revolutionary quiver was vaguely current.
Breaths which had started forth from the depths of'89 and'93 were in the air.
Youth was on the point，may the reader pardon us the word，of moulting.People were undergoing a transformation，almost without being conscious of it，through the movement of the age.
The needle which moves round the compass also moves in souls.
Each person was taking that step in advance which he was bound to take.The Royalists were becoming liberals，liberals were turning democrats.It was a flood tide complicated with a thousand ebb movements；the peculiarity of ebbs is to create intermixtures；hence the combination of very singular ideas；people adored both Napoleon and liberty.We are ****** history here.
These were the mirages of that period.Opinions traverse phases.
Voltairian royalism，a quaint variety，had a no less singular sequel，Bonapartist liberalism.
Other groups of minds were more serious.
In that direction，they sounded principles，they attached themselves to the right.They grew enthusiastic for the absolute，they caught glimpses of infinite realizations；the absolute，by its very rigidity，urges spirits towards the sky and causes them to float in illimitable space.There is nothing like dogma for bringing forth dreams.
And there is nothing like dreams for engendering the future.
Utopia to-day，flesh and blood to-morrow.
These advanced opinions had a double foundation.
A beginning of mystery menaced'the established order of things，'which was suspicious and underhand.
A sign which was revolutionary to the highest degree.
The second thoughts of power meet the second thoughts of the populace in the mine.
The incubation of insurrections gives the retort to the premeditation of coups d'etat.
There did not，as yet，exist in France any of those vast underlying organizations，like the German tugendbund and Italian Carbonarism；but here and there there were dark underminings，which were in process of throwing off shoots.