“Tell me where M. Marius lives.”

The old man did not understand. “What Monsieur Marius?”

He raised his glassy eyes and seemed to be seeking something that had vanished.

“A young man who used to come here.”

In the meantime, M. Mabeuf had searched his memory.

“Ah! yes⁠—” he exclaimed. “I know what you mean. Wait! Monsieur Marius⁠—the Baron Marius Pontmercy, parbleu! He lives⁠—or rather, he no longer lives⁠—ah well, I don’t know.”

As he spoke, he had bent over to train a branch of rhododendron, and he continued:⁠—