s which, for the last sixty years, have been frightening the flocks of crows in the Tuileries!
But you were pitiless in getting yourself killed like this, I shall not even grieve over your death, do you understand, you assassin?"
At that moment, Marius slowly opened his eyes, and his glance, still dimmed by lethargic wonder, rested on M. Gillenormand.
"Marius!" cried the old man.
"Marius!
My little Marius! my child! my well-beloved son!
You open your eyes, you gaze upon me, you are alive, thanks!"
And he fell fainting.
BOOK FOURTH.--JAVERT DERAILED
CHAPTER I
Javert passed slowly down the Rue de l''Homme Arme.
He walked with drooping head for the first time in his life, and likewise, for the first time in his life, with his hands behind his back.
Up to that day, Javert had borrowed from Napoleon''s attitudes, only that which is expressive of resolution, with arms folded across the chest; that which is expressive of uncertainty--with the hands behind the back--had been unknown to him.
Now, a change had taken place; his whole person, slow and sombre, was stamped with anxiety.
He plunged into the silent streets.
Nevertheless, he followed one given direction.
He took the shortest cut to the Seine, reached the Quai des Ormes, skirted the quay, passed the Greve, and halted at some distance from the post of the Place du Chatelet, at the angle of the Pont Notre-Dame. There, between the Notre-Dame and the Pont au Change on the one hand, and the Quai de la Megisserie and the Quai aux Fleurs on the other, the Seine forms a sort of square lake, traversed by a rapid.