Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [228]
“Monsieur!—” said Marius.
“And I was,” added Laigle de Meaux.
“I do not understand you,” said Marius.
Laigle resumed:
“Nothing more simple. I was near the chair to answer, and near the door to escape. The professor was looking at me with a certain fixedness. Suddenly, Blondeau, who must be the malignant nose of which Boileau speaks, leaps to the letter L. L is my letter; I am of Meaux, and my name is Lesgle.”
“L‘Aigle!” interrupted Marius, “what a fine name.”
“Monsieur, the Blondeau re-echoes this fine name and cries: ‘Laigle!’ I answer: Present! Then Blondeau looks at me with the gentleness of a tiger, smiles, and says: If you are Pontmercy, you are not Laigle. A phrase which is uncomplimentary to you, but which brought me only to grief. So saying, he erases me.”
Marius exclaimed:
“Monsieur, I am mortified—”
“First of all,” interrupted Laigle, “I beg leave to embalm Blondeau in a few words of feeling eulogy. I suppose him dead. There wouldn’t be much to change in his thinness, his paleness, his coldness, his stiffness, and his odour. And I say: Erudimini qui judicatis terram. Here lies Blondeau, Blondeau the Nose, Blondeau Nasica, the ox of discipline, bos disciplinœ, the Molossus of his orders, the angel of the roll, who was straight, square, exact, rigid, honest, and hideous. God has erased him as he erased me.”
Marius resumed:
“I am very sorry—”
“Young man,” said Laigle of Meaux, “let this be a lesson to you. In future, be punctual.”
“I really must give a thousand excuses.”
“Never expose yourself again to having your neighbour erased.”
“I am very sorry.”
Laigle burst out laughing.
“And I, in raptures; I was on the brink of being a lawyer. This rupture saves me. I renounce the triumphs of the bar. I shall not defend the widow, and I shall not attack the orphan. No more toga, no more probation. Here is my erasure obtained. It is to you that I owe it, Monsieur Pontmercy. I intend to pay you a solemn visit of thanks. Where do you live?”
“In this cabriolet,” said Marius.
“A sign of opulence,” replied Laigle calmly. “I congratulate you. You have here rent of nine thousand francs a year.”
Just then Courfeyrac came out of the café.
Marius smiled sadly.
“I have been paying this rent for two hours, and I hope to get out of it; but, it is the usual story, I do not know where to go.”
“Monsieur,” said Courfeyrac, “come home with me.”
“I should have priority,” observed Laigle, “but I have no home.”
“Silence, Bossuet,” replied Courfeyrac.
“Bossuet,” said Marius, “but I thought you called yourself Laigle.
“Of Meaux,” answered Laigle; “metaphorically, Bossuet.”
Courfeyrac got into the cabriolet.
“Driver,” said he, “Hôtel de la Porte Saint Jacques.”
And that same evening, Marius was installed in a room at the Hotel de la Porte Saint Jacques, side by side with Courfeyrac.
3
THE ASTONISHMENTS OF MARIUS
IN A FEW DAYS, Marius was the friend of Courfeyrac. Youth is the season of prompt weldings and rapid cicatrisations. Marius, in Courfeyrac’s presence, breathed freely, a new thing for him. Courfeyrac asked him no questions. He did not even think of it. At that age, the countenance tells all at once. Speech is useless. There are some young men of whom we might say their physiog nomies are talkative. They look at one another, they know one another.
One morning, however, Courfeyrac abruptly put this question to him.
“By the way, have you any political opinions?”
“What do you mean?” said Marius, almost offended at the question.
“What are you?”
“Bonapartist democrat.”
“Grey shade of quiet mouse colour,” said Courfeyrac.
The next day, Courfeyrac introduced Marius to the Café Musain. Then he whispered in his ear with a smile: “I must give you your