Victor hugo

7 
The Jondrettes 
Summer and autumn passed, and winter came, but Marius saw no sign 
of M. Leblanc or „Ursula‟. He searched everywhere for them, but without 
success. He became like a homeless dog, wandering the streets in a 
mood of dark despair. Without „Ursula‟, his life had become 
meaningless, work disgusted him, walking tired him, solitude bored 
him. 
„If only I hadn‟t followed them home,‟ he told himself. „It gave me so 
much happiness just to look at her, and now, through my stupidity, I‟ve 
lost even that.‟ 
Enjolras and his other friends tried to cheer him up by taking him to 
exciting places, but these expeditions always ended in the same way: 
Marius would leave the group and walk around the streets of Paris 
unhappily on his own. 
One cold but sunny afternoon in February, Marius was walking along 
the street when two young girls dressed in rags ran into him. One was 
tall and thin, the other smaller. From what they were shouting at each 
other, he understood that they were running from the police. He stood 
for a moment staring after them as they disappeared round a corner. 
Then he noticed a small parcel of papers lying on the ground. 
Realizing that one of the girls must have dropped it, he picked it up and 
called after them, but it was too late. The girls had already disappeared 
from sight. With a sigh, he put the package in his pocket and went on 
to dinner. 
That night at home, Marius opened the package and found that it 
contained four letters, all addressed to different people, and smelling 
strongly of cheap tobacco. Marius read the four letters and discovered 
that they were all asking for money. However, there was something 
strange about them: although they all seemed to be written by different 
people, they were written on the same rough paper in the same 
handwriting. He also noticed that each of them had similar spelling 
mistakes. Thinking no more about it, he wrapped the letters up again, 
threw them into a corner and went to bed. 
The next morning, while he was working, there was a gentle knock on 
his door. 
„Come in,‟ Marius said, expecting it to be the concierge, Mme Bougon. 
But the voice that answered, saying, „I beg your pardon, Monsieur,‟ was 
not that of Mme Bougon. It was more like the voice of a sick old man. 

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31 
Marius looked up quickly and saw that his visitor was a thin girl 
wearing just a skirt and shirt. She looked cold and ill, and when she 
spoke, Marius saw that she had lost several of her teeth. There was, 
however, still a trace of beauty in the sixteen-year-old face, like pale 
sunlight beneath the thick clouds of a winter‟s dawn. Marius rose to his 
feet, sure that he had seen the girl somewhere before. 
„What can I do for you, Mademoiselle?‟ he asked. 
„I‟ve got a letter for you, M. Marius.‟ 
Marius opened the letter and read: 
My warm-hearted neighbour, I have heard of how you kindly paid my rent for 
me six months ago. I thank you for it. But my eldest daughter will tell you that 
my wife is sick and none of us have had any food for four days. Please, 
Monsieur, show us the kindness of your generous heart again. My daughter is 
at your service. Yours truly, Jondrette. 
Marius realized at once that the handwriting, the yellow paper and the 
smell of cheap tobacco was the same as in the four letters he had read 
the previous evening. He now had five letters, all the work of one 
author: the man who lived with his family in the next room. 
The Jondrette family had been Marius‟s neighbours for many months, 
but he had never before paid much attention to them. This was why he 
had failed to recognize the two daughters when they had run into him 
on the street. But now he understood that Jondrette‟s business was 
writing dishonest letters, asking money from people he imagined were 
wealthier than himself. 
Marius looked up from the letter and watched the girl moving fearlessly 
around his room, studying the furniture and the mirror on the wall. Her 
eyes lit up when she noticed the books on his writing desk. 
„Books!‟ she said, and then added with pride. „I know how to read and 
write. Look, I‟ll show you.‟ 
Picking up a pen that lay on the table, she wrote on a piece of paper,