He told all his friends that business was looking up again in the most unexpected manner; that there were fortunes to be made by those who could command ready cash; and that it was necessary to make up for lost time.

He pretended that the enormous indemnity to be paid to the Prussians would necessitate an enormous movement of capital, financial combinations, a loan, and that so many millions could not be handled without allowing a few little millions to fall into intelligent pockets.

Dazzled by the mere enumeration of those fabulous sums, “I should not be a bit surprised,” said the others, “to see Favoral double and treble his fortune.  What a famous match his daughter will be!”

Alas! never had Mlle. Gilberte felt in her heart so much hatred and disgust for that money, the only thought, the sole subject of conversation, of those around her,—­for that cursed money which had risen like an insurmountable obstacle between Marius and herself.

For two weeks past, the communications had been completely restored; and there was as yet no sign of M. de Tregars.  It was with the most violent palpitations of her heart that she awaited each day the hour of the Signor Gismondo Pulei’s lesson:  and more painful each time became her anguish when she heard him exclaim,

“Nothing, not a line, not a word.  The pupil has forgotten his old master!”

But Mlle. Gilberte knew well that Marius did not forget.  Her blood froze in her veins when she read in the papers the interminable list of those poor soldiers who had succumbed during the invasion, —­the more fortunate ones under Prussian bullets; the others along the roads, in the mud or in the snow, of cold, of fatigue, of suffering and of want.

She could not drive from her mind the memory of that lugubrious vision which had so much frightened her; and she was asking herself whether it was not one of those inexplicable presentiments, of which there are examples, which announce the death of a beloved person.

Alone at night in her little room, Mlle. Gilberte withdrew from the hiding-place, where she kept it preciously, that package which Marius had confided to her, recommending her not to open it until she was sure that he would not return.  It was very voluminous, enclosed in an envelope of thick paper, sealed with red wax, bearing the arms of Tregars; and she had often wondered what it could possibly contain.  And now she shuddered at the thought that she had perhaps the right to open it.

And she had no one of whom she could ask for a word of hope.  She was compelled to hide her tears, and to put on a smile.  She was compelled to invent pretexts for those who expressed their wonder at seeing her exquisite beauty withering in the bud,—­for her mother, whose anxiety was without limit, when she saw her thus pale, her eyes inflamed, and undermined by a continuous fever.