Les Misérables: Essential Edition

M. Gillenormand was one of those old men who await death perfectly erect, whom age burdens without making them stoop, and whom even grief does not bend. Still, for some time past, his daughter had been saying that he was failing. He no longer boxed the servants' ears; he no longer thumped the landing so vigorously with his cane when Basque was slow in opening the door. The Revolution of July had scarcely exasperated him for six months. He had seen, almost tranquilly, in the Moniteur, this coupling of words: M. Humblot-Conté, peer of France. The fact is, that the old man was filled with dejection. He did not bend, he did not yield; this was no more a trait of his physical than of his moral nature; but he felt himself giving way internally. Four years had elapsed since Marius had left, and no news of him had reached them. He could not, without a pang, resign himself to the idea that Marius was lost to him forever.