loungers； in spite of the porter's broom which pretends to be sweeping
out the gateway。 Then there's the talkative refugee； who complains and
converses with the porter while he rests on his broom like a grenadier
on his musket； or the pauper wayfarer； curled against the wall
indifferent to the condition of his rags； long used； alas； to contact
with the streets； or the learned pedestrian who studies； spells； and
reads the posters on the walls without finishing them； or the smiling
pedestrian who makes fun of others to whom some street fatality has
happened； who laughs at the muddy women； and makes grimaces at those
of either sex who are looking from the windows； and the silent being
who gazes from floor to floor； and the working…man； armed with a
satchel or a paper bundle； who is estimating the rain as a profit or
loss； and the good…natured fugitive； who arrives like a shot
exclaiming； 〃Ah！ what weather； messieurs； what weather！〃 and bows to
every one； and； finally； the true /bourgeois/ of Paris； with his
unfailing umbrella； an expert in showers； who foresaw this particular
one； but would come out in spite of his wife； this one takes a seat in
the porter's chair。 According to individual character； each member of
this fortuitous society contemplates the skies； and departs； skipping
to avoid the mud；because he is in a hurry； or because he sees other
citizens walking along in spite of wind and slush； or because； the
archway being damp and mortally catarrhal； the bed's edge； as the
proverb says； is better than the sheets。 Each one has his motive。 No
one is left but the prudent pedestrian； the man who； before he sets
forth； makes sure of a scrap of blue sky through the rifting clouds。
Monsieur de Maulincour took refuge； as we have said； with a whole
family of fugitives； under the porch of an old house； the court…yard
of which looked like the flue of a chimney。 The sides of its
plastered； nitrified； and mouldy walls were so covered with pipes and
conduits from all the many floors of its four elevations； that it
might have been said to resemble at that moment the /cascatelles/ of
Saint…Cloud。 Water flowed everywhere； it boiled； it leaped； it
murmured； it was black； white； blue； and green； it shrieked； it
bubbled under the broom of the portress； a toothless old woman used to
storms； who seemed to bless them as she swept into the street a mass
of scraps an intelligent inventory of which would have revealed the
lives and habits of every dweller in the house；bits of printed
cottons； tea…leaves； artificial flower…petals faded and worthless；
vegetable parings； papers； scraps of metal。 At every sweep of her
broom the old woman bared the soul of the gutter； that black fissure
on which a porter's mind is ever bent。 The poor lover examined this
scene； like a thousand others which our heaving Paris presents daily；
but he examined it mechanically； as a man absorbed in thought； when；
happening to look up； he found himself all but nose to nose with a man
who had just entered the gateway。
In appearance this man was a beggar； but not the Parisian beggar；
that creation without a name in human language； no； this man formed
another type； while presenting on the outside all the ideas suggested
by the word 〃beggar。〃 He was not marked by those original Parisian
characteristics which strike us so forcibly in the paupers whom
Charlet was fond of representing； with his rare luck in observation；
coarse faces reeking of mud； hoarse voices； reddened and bulbous
noses； mouths devoid of teeth but menacing； humble yet terrible
beings； in whom a profound intelligence shining in their eyes seems
like a contradiction。 Some of these bold vagabonds have blotched；
cracked； veiny skins； their foreheads are covered with wrinkles； their
hair scanty and dirty； like a wig thrown on a dust…heap。 All are gay
in their degradation； and degraded in their joys； all are marked with
the stamp of debauchery； casting their silence as a reproach； their
very attitude revealing fearful thoughts。 Placed between crime and
beggary they have no compunctions； and circle prudently around the
scaffold without mounting it； innocent in the midst of crime； and
vicious in their innocence。 They often cause a laugh； but they always
cause reflection。 One represents to you civilization stunted；
repressed； he comprehends everything； the honor of the galleys；
patriotism； virtue； the malice of a vulgar crime； or the fine
astuteness of elegant wickedness。 Another is resigned； a perfect
mimer； but stupid。 All have slight yearnings after order and work； but
they are pushed back into their mire by society； which makes no
inquiry as to what there may be of great men； poets； intrepid souls；
and splendid organizations among these vagrants； these gypsies of
Paris； a people eminently good and eminently evillike all the masses
who sufferaccustomed to endure unspeakable woes； and whom a fatal
power holds ever down to the level of the mire。 They all have a dream；
a hope； a happiness；cards； lottery； or wine。
There was nothing of all this in the personage who now leaned
carelessly against the wall in front of Monsieur de Maulincour； like
some fantastic idea drawn by an artist on the back of a canvas the
front of which is turned to the wall。 This tall； spare man； whose
leaden visage expressed some deep but chilling thought； dried up all
pity in the hearts of those who looked at him by the scowling look and
the sarcastic attitude which announced an intention of treating every
man as an equal。 His face was of a dirty white； and his wrinkled
skull； denuded of hair； bore a vague resemblance to a block of
granite。 A few gray locks on either side of his head fell straight to
the collar of his greasy coat； which was buttoned to the chin。 He
resembled both Voltaire and Don Quixote； he was； apparently； scoffing
but melancholy； full of disdain and philosophy； but half…crazy。 He
seemed to have no shirt。 His beard was long。 A rusty black cravat；
much worn and ragged； exposed a protuberant neck deeply furrowed； with
veins as thick as cords。 A large brown circle like a bruise was
strongly marked beneath his eyes； He seemed to be at least sixty years
old。 His hands were white and clean。 His boots were trodden down at
the heels； and full of holes。 A pair of blue trousers； mended in
various places； were covered with a species of fluff which made them
offensive to the eye。 Whether it was that his damp clothes exhaled a
fetid odor； or that he had in his normal condition the 〃poor smell〃
which belongs to Parisian tenements； just as offices； sacristies； and
hospitals have their own peculiar and rancid fetidness； of which no
words can give the least idea； or whether some other reason affected
them； those in the vicinity of this man immediately moved away and
left him alone。 He cast upon them and also upon the officer a calm；
expressionless look； the celebrated look of Monsieur de Talleyrand； a
dull； wan glance； without warmth； a species of impenetrable veil；
beneath which a strong soul hides profound emotions and close
estimation of men and things and events。 Not a fold of his face
quivered。 His mouth and forehead were impassible； but his eyes moved
and lowered themselves with a noble； almost tragic slowness。 There
was； in fact； a whole drama in the motion of those withered eyelids。
The aspect of this stoical figure gave rise in Monsieur de Maulincour
to one of those vagabond reveries which begin with a common question
and end by comprising a world of thought。 The storm was past。 Monsieur
de Maulincour presently saw no more of the man than the tail of his
coat as it brushed the gate…post； but as he turned to leave his own
place he noticed at his feet a letter which must have fallen from the
unknown beggar when he took； as the baron had seen him take； a
handkerchief from his pocket。 The young man picked it up； and read；
involuntarily； the address： 〃To Monsieur Ferragusse； Rue des Grands…
Augustains； corner of rue Soly。〃
The letter bore no postmark； and the address prevented Monsieur de
Maulincour from following the beggar and returning it； for there are
few passions that will not fail in rectitude in the long run。 The
baron had a presentiment of the opportunity afforded by this windfall。
He determined to keep the letter； which would give him the right to
enter the mysterious house to return it to the strange man； not
doubting that he lived there。 Suspicions； vague as the first faint
gleams of daylight； made him fancy relations between this man and
Madame Jules。 A jealous lover supposes everything； and it is by
supposing everything and selecting the most probable of their
conjectures that judges； spies； lovers； and observers get at the truth
they are looking for。
〃Is the letter for him？ Is it from Madame Jules？〃
His restless imagination tossed a thousand such questions to him； but
when he read the first words of the letter he smiled。 Here it is；
textually； in all the simplicity of its artless phrases and its
miserable orthography；a letter to which it would be impossible to
add anything； or to take anything away； unless it were the letter
itself。 But we have yielded to the necessity of punctuating it。 In the
original there were neither commas nor stops of any kind； not even
notes of exclamation；a fact which tends to undervalue the system of
notes and dashes by which modern authors have endeavored to depict the
great disasters of all the passions：
Henry；Among the manny sacrifisis I imposed upon myself for your
sake was that of not giving you anny news of me； but an
iresistible voise now compells me to let you know the wrong you
have done me。 I know beforehand that your soul hardened in vise
will not pitty me。 Your heart is deaf to feeling。 Is it deaf to
the cries of nature？ But what matter？ I must tell you to what a
dredful point you are gilty； and the horror of the position to
which you have brought me。 Henry； you knew what I sufered from my
first wrong…doing； and yet you plunged me into the same misery；
and then abbandoned me to my dispair and sufering。 Yes； I will say
it； the belif I had that you loved me and esteemed me gave me
corage to bare my fate。 But now； what hav