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Updated: June 5, 2025


M. Mabeuf, in his venerable, infantile austerity, had not accepted the gift of the stars; he had not admitted that a star could coin itself into louis d'or. He had not divined that what had fallen from heaven had come from Gavroche. He had taken the purse to the police commissioner of the quarter, as a lost article placed by the finder at the disposal of claimants. The purse was actually lost.

A clock does not stop short at the precise moment when the key is lost. M. Mabeuf had his innocent pleasures. These pleasures were inexpensive and unexpected; the merest chance furnished them. One day, Mother Plutarque was reading a romance in one corner of the room. She was reading aloud, finding that she understood better thus. To read aloud is to assure one's self of what one is reading.

Could it have been a goblin?" Some days after this visit of a "spirit" to Farmer Mabeuf, one morning, it was on a Monday, the day when Marius borrowed the hundred-sou piece from Courfeyrac for Thenardier Marius had put this coin in his pocket, and before carrying it to the clerk's office, he had gone "to take a little stroll," in the hope that this would make him work on his return.

He had no arms, and he made great haste, so that he might not be left behind, although he had a thoughtful air. Gavroche caught sight of him: "Keksekca?" said he to Courfeyrac. "He's an old duffer." It was M. Mabeuf. Let us recount what had taken place. Enjolras and his friends had been on the Boulevard Bourdon, near the public storehouses, at the moment when the dragoons had made their charge.

It was a question of an officer of dragoons and a beauty: " The beauty pouted, and the dragoon " Here she interrupted herself to wipe her glasses. "Bouddha and the Dragon," struck in M. Mabeuf in a low voice. "Yes, it is true that there was a dragon, which, from the depths of its cave, spouted flame through his maw and set the heavens on fire.

M. Mabeuf had set himself to turning over and reading, with the aid of his glasses, two books of which he was passionately fond and in which, a serious thing at his age, he was interested. His natural timidity rendered him accessible to the acceptance of superstitions in a certain degree.

One day, Mother Plutarque said to him: "I have no money to buy any dinner." What she called dinner was a loaf of bread and four or five potatoes. "On credit?" suggested M. Mabeuf. "You know well that people refuse me."

It resembled the hoarse, rough voice of Eponine. Marius hastened to the gate, thrust aside the movable bar, passed his head through the aperture, and saw some one who appeared to him to be a young man, disappearing at a run into the gloom. Jean Valjean's purse was of no use to M. Mabeuf.

She passed her time, on Sundays, after mass, in counting over the linen in her chest, and in spreading out on her bed the dresses in the piece which she bought and never had made up. She knew how to read. M. Mabeuf had nicknamed her Mother Plutarque. M. Mabeuf had taken a fancy to Marius, because Marius, being young and gentle, warmed his age without startling his timidity.

Owing to his taste for remaining outside of everything, and through having been too much alarmed, he had not entered decidedly into the group presided over by Enjolras. They had remained good friends; they were ready to assist each other on occasion in every possible way; but nothing more. Marius had two friends: one young, Courfeyrac; and one old, M. Mabeuf. He inclined more to the old man.

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