And then he began following Marius, no longer by order, but through personal curiosity, like those dogs which hunt on their own account. Marius paid no attention to Théodule. Some elegant women were getting out of the diligence, but he did not look at them; he seemed to see nothing around him.
"He must be preciously in love," Théodule thought. Marius proceeded towards the church.
"That's glorious!" Théodule said to himself; "the church, that's the thing. Rendezvous spiced with a small amount of Mass are the best. Nothing is so exquisite as an ogle exchanged in the presence of the Virgin."
On reaching the church, Marius did not go in, but disappeared behind one of the buttresses of the apse.
"The meeting outside," Théodule said; "now for a look at the girl."
And he walked on tiptoe up to the corner which Marius had gone round, and on reaching it stopped in stupefaction. Marius, with his forehead in both his hands, was kneeling in the grass upon a tomb, and had spread his flowers out over it. At the head of the grave was a cross of black wood, with this name in white letters,—"COLONEL BARON PONTMERCY." Marius could be heard sobbing.
The girl was a tomb.