As the place is worth looking at, no one goes thither. Hardly one cart or wagoner passes in a quarter of an hour.
It chanced that Marius’ solitary strolls led him to this plot of ground, near the water. That day, there was a rarity on the boulevard, a passerby. Marius, vaguely impressed with the almost savage beauty of the place, asked this passerby:—“What is the name of this spot?”
The person replied: “It is the Lark’s meadow.”
And he added: “It was here that Ulbach killed the shepherdess of Ivry.”
But after the word “Lark” Marius heard nothing more. These sudden congealments in the state of reverie, which a single word suffices to evoke, do occur. The entire thought is abruptly condensed around an idea, and it is no longer capable of perceiving anything else.
The Lark was the appellation which had replaced Ursule in the depths of Marius’ melancholy.—“Stop,” said he with a sort of unreasoning stupor peculiar to these mysterious asides, “this is her meadow. I shall know where she lives now.”
It was absurd, but irresistible.
And every day he returned to that meadow of the Lark.
II
Embryonic Formation of Crimes in the Incubation of Prisons
Javert’s triumph in the Gorbeau hovel seemed complete, but had not been so.