Marius had lived in poverty for several years, but he had never known true desperation. He had seen true desperation in the form of this girl—this phantom—who had just passed before his eyes. She had revealed to him an entirely new and hideous kind of poverty. She and her family had fallen so low, become so poor, that they could only be described as people living in misery—les misérables.
Every day before her visit, Marius must have seen the girl, or a member of her family, in the hall of the Gorbeau house. He could hear their voices through the thin wall that separated their apartment from his. But he had never paid attention. Yes, he had paid their rent, but anyone would have done that. A better neighbor would have paid attention to them and done more for them.
Suddenly Marius noticed a small hole that he had never seen before. It was near the ceiling on the wall that divided the two apartments.
"Let’s see what this Jondrette family is like," said Marius as he climbed on a table. "It’s not wrong to spy on people if your intention is to help them."
Marius looked through the hole. His room was badly furnished, but at least it was clean. The room next door was filthy. The furniture consisted of a cane chair, a rickety table, and two dirty beds on either side of the fireplace. The dark corners of this room hid who knows what—perhaps spiders as big as one’s fist.
A man with a long gray beard sat smoking at a table. He was writing, probably a letter such as the ones Marius had read. He was wearing a woman’s blouse over a pair of muddy trousers. His toes stuck out from his broken-down boots.
A large woman with graying red hair squatted near the fireplace. She too was wearing a blouse, but hers was worn with a patched skirt. Marius could see a girl lying listlessly on one of the beds. Probably the younger sister of the girl who had visited him.
Marius was about to step away from his spy hole when the door to the neighbors’ apartment opened and the elder daughter appeared. Wrapped in a ragged old gown, she was wearing men’s work boots.
She was breathless and yet there was a triumphant look on her face. "He’s coming!" she announced. "I found him at the Church of Saint Jacques du Haut Pas."
"The generous man?" asked Monsieur Jondrette.
"Yes, he said his daughter had to make some purchases, but he would be along soon. I tell you he’s coming now."
"Wife, put out the fire!"
The surprised woman did not stir, so her husband grabbed a broken pot on the mantel and threw water on the fire.
Then, turning to his elder daughter, he said, "Break the chair!"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He seized the chair and kicked out the cane seat. "Is it cold outside?" he asked her.
"Very cold and it’s snowing."
The father turned toward the younger girl on the bed. "Get up, you good-for-nothing, and break a windowpane."
The girl sprang off the bed, trembling. She was speechless at his command.
"Did you hear me?" roared Monsieur Jondrette. "I told you to break a windowpane."
The girl, with a sort of terrified obedience, rose up on tiptoe and smashed the window with her fist. The glass broke and fell with a crash.
"Good," said the father. He ran his eyes over all the nooks and crannies of the room. He was like a general making his final preparations before the battle.
Madame Jondrette slowly got up and asked, "Dear, what do you want me to do?"
"Get into bed." His tone of voice showed he tolerated no disobedience. The mother threw herself heavily onto a bed.
Meanwhile the younger daughter was sobbing.
"What’s wrong with you?" asked the father.
She showed him her bleeding fist. In breaking the window, she had cut herself.
It was the mother’s turn to scold her husband. "See what a stupid thing you’ve done! You told her to break the glass, and she’s hurt herself."
"So much the better! Now she looks even more pitiful." Monsieur Jondrette tore a strip from his blouse and wound it around his daughter’s hand.
An icy wind blew through the broken window. The father looked around to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
"I think we’re ready to receive the generous man from the church."
Just then there was a knock at the door. Monsieur Jondrette rushed forward and opened it with many low bows and smiles.
"Ah, my benefactor!" he exclaimed. "Please come in and bring your lovely daughter with you."
A man with white hair and a girl walked into the room. Marius, who had been watching all this, almost fell from his perch in surprise. It was Ursula—the radiant young woman who had been the object of his adoration in the Luxembourg Gardens! She looked just the same, perhaps a little paler. She was wearing a black cloak trimmed with fur and a violet velvet hat. Below her long dress, Marius caught a glimpse of her tiny foot in a satin shoe. The elder Jondrette daughter was also taking in the girl’s outfit and her charming, happy face, but with a look of evil intent.
The girl laid a large package on the table.
"Monsieur, you’ll find here some new clothes, warm stockings, and blankets," said Monsieur Leblanc.
"Our angelic benefactor overwhelms us," Monsieur Jondrette said loudly. To his older daughter he whispered, "I don’t want clothes and blankets! I want money! Which letter did you give him?"
"The one signed Fabantou," she whispered back.
"Right, the actor. Good."
"I see that you are indeed to be pitied," said Monsieur Leblanc, looking around the room.
"Yes, look. My poor darlings have no bread and no fire. The window is broken and in such weather as this! My wife is sick, and my child is injured. Look at her bleeding wrist. It was an accident at the factory where she earns only a few coins a week. I fear the doctor may have to cut off her arm—if we can even afford a doctor."
"Indeed!" said Monsieur Leblanc, clearly alarmed by the situation.
The girl, who believed that she might now lose her arm, began to sob. But her father paid no attention. He was busy looking at the generous man because there was something familiar about that man.
"The rent is due in a few days," Jondrette went on. "I owe sixty francs."
Monsieur Leblanc drew five francs from his pocket. "That’s all I have right now. I must take my daughter home, but I’ll bring you sixty francs tonight. And here—take my coat."
Monsieur Jondrette escorted the Leblancs downstairs. Marius was desperate to learn where they lived, but he couldn’t let the father catch sight of him. He followed them downstairs and saw them getting into a cab. Marius looked frantically for a cab but couldn’t find one. As their cab disappeared around the corner, he stood in the street and watched helplessly.