This violent fashion of driving a grandson to tenderness was productive only of silence on the part of Marius. M. Gillenormand folded his arms; a gesture which with him was peculiarly imperious, and apostrophized Marius bitterly:⁠—

“Let us make an end of this. You have come to ask something of me, you say? Well, what? What is it? Speak!”

“Sir,” said Marius, with the look of a man who feels that he is falling over a precipice, “I have come to ask your permission to marry.”

M. Gillenormand rang the bell. Basque opened the door halfway.

“Call my daughter.”