第十一章 从苦难中伸出的援手
马吕斯缓慢地登上破屋的楼梯，正要走进自己的房间时，瞥见若恩德特家的大女儿跟在他身后穿过走廊。这女孩的身影让他厌恶——正是她拿走了他的五法郎，现在要回来已经太迟，马车早已不见踪影，出租马车也驶远了。况且，她也不会归还。至于向她打听刚刚离去那两人的住址，更是徒劳；她显然不知道，因为署名“法邦图”的信件是寄往“圣雅克-迪奥-帕教堂的仁慈先生”。
马吕斯走进房间，随手把门带上。
门没有关上，他转过身，看见一只手正扶着半开的门扇。
“什么事？”他问道，“是谁？”
是若恩德特家的女孩。
“是你？”马吕斯近乎粗鲁地说，“又是你！你想干什么？”
她似乎若有所思，没有看他。她已不再像早上那样带着自信的神情。她没有进门，而是退在走廊的暗处，马吕斯透过半开的门缝能看见她。
“喂，你倒是回答啊！”马吕斯喊道，“你想干什么？”
她抬起阴沉的眼睛，眸中似乎隐约闪烁着一丝光芒，说道：
“马吕斯先生，您看上去很忧伤。您怎么了？”
“我？”马吕斯说。
“是的，您。”
“我没什么。”
“不，您有事！”
“没有。”
“我说您有事！”
“别管我！”
马吕斯再次推门，但她仍扶着门扇。
“等等，”她说，“您错了。虽然您不富有，但今早您很善良。现在也请善良一回吧。您给了我吃的，现在请告诉我您为何烦恼。您很忧伤，这很明显。我不愿看到您忧伤。我能做些什么？我能帮上忙吗？请差使我吧。我不问您的秘密，您不必告诉我，但我或许仍能派上用场。我能帮您，就像我帮我父亲那样。需要送信、登门、挨家挨户打听地址、跟踪某人时，我都能派上用场。所以，您尽管告诉我您的事，我去和他们说；有时候只要有人去和他们说说话，就能让他们明白事理，一切就都解决了。请用我吧。”
一个念头闪过马吕斯的脑海。当人感觉自己正在坠落时，还会嫌弃什么树枝呢？
他走近若恩德特家的女孩。
“听着——”他对她说。
她打断了他，眼中闪烁着喜悦的光芒。
“哦，好的，请用‘你’来称呼我！我更喜欢这样。”
“好吧，”他接着说，“是你把那位老先生和他女儿带到这儿来的！”
“是的。”
“你知道他们的地址吗？”
“不知道。”
“给我找到它。”
若恩德特家女孩那阴沉的眼睛曾变得欢喜，此刻却又黯淡下来。
“您就想要这个？”她问道。
“是的。”
“您认识他们吗？”
“不认识。”
“也就是说，”她很快接话道，“您不认识她，但您想认识她。”
这“他们”变成了“她”，其中蕴含着某种难以言喻的深意和苦涩。
“那么，你能办到吗？”马吕斯说。
“您会得到那位漂亮女士的地址。”
“那位漂亮女士”这几个字里仍带着一丝让马吕斯不安的意味。他接着说：
“无所谓，总之是父亲和女儿的地址。对，就是他们的地址！”
她定定地注视着他。
“您给我什么？”
“你要什么都行。”
“我要什么都行？”
“是的。”
“您会得到地址的。”
她垂下头，随即猛地一拉门，门在她身后关上了。
马吕斯独自一人。
他跌坐在椅子上，头埋在双肘间，靠在床上，沉浸在难以理清的思绪中，仿佛陷入了眩晕。自清晨以来发生的一切——天使的出现，她的离去，那女孩刚才对他说的话，在巨大的绝望中漂浮的一丝希望——这一切混乱地充塞着他的脑海。
突然，他猛地从沉思中惊醒。
他听到若恩德特尖厉的声音说出了这句话，这句话对他而言充满了奇特的意味：
“我告诉你，我肯定，我认出他了。”
若恩德特在说谁？他认出了谁？勒布朗先生？“他的于絮尔”的父亲？什么！若恩德特认识他？马吕斯难道要以这种突如其来的、意想不到的方式，获得所有让他的生活如此黑暗的信息吗？他最终会知道他所爱的人是谁吗？那年轻女孩是谁？她的父亲是谁？那笼罩着他们的浓重阴影即将消散吗？那层面纱即将被撕裂吗？啊！天哪！
他几乎是冲上而不是爬上他的五斗柜，重新在隔墙的窥视孔旁占据了他的位置。
他再次看见了若恩德特陋室的内部。
Marius ascended the stairs of the hovel with slow steps; at the moment
when he was about to re-enter his cell, he caught sight of the elder
Jondrette girl following him through the corridor. The very sight of
this girl was odious to him; it was she who had his five francs, it was
too late to demand them back, the cab was no longer there, the fiacre
was far away. Moreover, she would not have given them back. As for
questioning her about the residence of the persons who had just been
there, that was useless; it was evident that she did not know, since
the letter signed Fabantou had been addressed “to the benevolent
gentleman of the church of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas.”
Marius entered his room and pushed the door to after him.
It did not close; he turned round and beheld a hand which held the door
half open.
“What is it?” he asked, “who is there?”
It was the Jondrette girl.
“Is it you?” resumed Marius almost harshly, “still you! What do you
want with me?”
She appeared to be thoughtful and did not look at him. She no longer
had the air of assurance which had characterized her that morning. She
did not enter, but held back in the darkness of the corridor, where
Marius could see her through the half-open door.
“Come now, will you answer?” cried Marius. “What do you want with me?”
She raised her dull eyes, in which a sort of gleam seemed to flicker
vaguely, and said:—
“Monsieur Marius, you look sad. What is the matter with you?”
“With me!” said Marius.
“Yes, you.”
“There is nothing the matter with me.”
“Yes, there is!”
“No.”
“I tell you there is!”
“Let me alone!”
Marius gave the door another push, but she retained her hold on it.
“Stop,” said she, “you are in the wrong. Although you are not rich, you
were kind this morning. Be so again now. You gave me something to eat,
now tell me what ails you. You are grieved, that is plain. I do not
want you to be grieved. What can be done for it? Can I be of any
service? Employ me. I do not ask for your secrets, you need not tell
them to me, but I may be of use, nevertheless. I may be able to help
you, since I help my father. When it is necessary to carry letters, to
go to houses, to inquire from door to door, to find out an address, to
follow any one, I am of service. Well, you may assuredly tell me what
is the matter with you, and I will go and speak to the persons;
sometimes it is enough if some one speaks to the persons, that suffices
to let them understand matters, and everything comes right. Make use of
me.”
An idea flashed across Marius’ mind. What branch does one disdain when
one feels that one is falling?
He drew near to the Jondrette girl.
“Listen—” he said to her.
She interrupted him with a gleam of joy in her eyes.
“Oh yes, do call me _thou!_ I like that better.”
“Well,” he resumed, “thou hast brought hither that old gentleman and
his daughter!”
“Yes.”
“Dost thou know their address?”
“No.”
“Find it for me.”
The Jondrette’s dull eyes had grown joyous, and they now became gloomy.
“Is that what you want?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
“Do you know them?”
“No.”
“That is to say,” she resumed quickly, “you do not know her, but you
wish to know her.”
This _them_ which had turned into _her_ had something indescribably
significant and bitter about it.
“Well, can you do it?” said Marius.
“You shall have the beautiful lady’s address.”
There was still a shade in the words “the beautiful lady” which
troubled Marius. He resumed:—
“Never mind, after all, the address of the father and daughter. Their
address, indeed!”
She gazed fixedly at him.
“What will you give me?”
“Anything you like.”
“Anything I like?”
“Yes.”
“You shall have the address.”
She dropped her head; then, with a brusque movement, she pulled to the
door, which closed behind her.
Marius found himself alone.
He dropped into a chair, with his head and both elbows on his bed,
absorbed in thoughts which he could not grasp, and as though a prey to
vertigo. All that had taken place since the morning, the appearance of
the angel, her disappearance, what that creature had just said to him,
a gleam of hope floating in an immense despair,—this was what filled
his brain confusedly.
All at once he was violently aroused from his reverie.
He heard the shrill, hard voice of Jondrette utter these words, which
were fraught with a strange interest for him:—
“I tell you that I am sure of it, and that I recognized him.”
Of whom was Jondrette speaking? Whom had he recognized? M. Leblanc? The
father of “his Ursule”? What! Did Jondrette know him? Was Marius about
to obtain in this abrupt and unexpected fashion all the information
without which his life was so dark to him? Was he about to learn at
last who it was that he loved, who that young girl was? Who her father
was? Was the dense shadow which enwrapped them on the point of being
dispelled? Was the veil about to be rent? Ah! Heavens!
He bounded rather than climbed upon his commode, and resumed his post
near the little peep-hole in the partition wall.
Again he beheld the interior of Jondrette’s hovel.
