M. Gillenormand, Marius's grandfather, was now ninety years old. He was unhappy about many things - about losing his teeth, about the political situation but, most of all, about the fact that he had not seen his grandson for four years, since their big quarrel. Although he was too proud to admit he was wrong, and although he was angry, M. Gillenormand hoped that Marius, whom he still loved, would return one day.

One evening in June, M. Gillenormand was sitting in front of a large fire, staring into the flames and thinking bitterly of Marius. He was feeling depressed, because he realized that he would probably never see his grandson again. While he was gazing into the fire, thinking these sad thoughts, his old servant entered the room and asked, 'Will Monsieur receive M. Marius?'

For a moment all the blood seemed to leave M. Gillenormand's face, and the servant began to worry that his master was ill. But the old man finally raised his head and said, in a low voice, 'Show him in.'

Marius stood uncertainly in the doorway. The poor condition of his clothes could not be seen in the half-darkness of the room. Nothing of him was clearly visible except his face, which was calm and serious, but strangely sad.

M. Gillenormand stared at his grandson with disbelief. At last! After four years! Was it really him? He wanted to open his arms and hug him, but all he said was, 'What have you come for?'

Marius murmured something in embarrassment.

'I can't hear you,' the old man said, looking annoyed. 'Have you come to apologize? Do you now see that you were wrong?'

'No, Monsieur.' Marius lowered his eyes.

'Well then,' the old man shouted, 'what do you want?'

'Monsieur, I ask you to have pity on me. I know I'm not welcome here, but I have come to ask for only one thing. Then I'll go away at once.'

'You're a young fool,' the old man said. 'Who said you had to go away? You left me - your grandfather! - to join in those street protests against the government, I suppose. You're probably in trouble with the police, or you're in debt, and you've run back to me for help

'Monsieur, it's none of those things.'

'Well, what is it exactly that you want?'

'I have come to ask your permission to get married.'

The old man paused for a moment before saying, 'So, you want to get married at the age of twenty-one. I suppose you've got some sort of career, now? Perhaps you've made a fortune. What do you earn as a lawyer?'

'Nothing.'

'Well then, I imagine the lucky girl must have money.'