The voice which had summoned Marius through the twilight to the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, had produced on him the effect of the voice of destiny. He wished to die; the opportunity presented itself; he knocked at the door of the tomb, a hand in the darkness offered him the key. These melancholy openings which take place in the gloom before despair, are tempting. Marius thrust aside the bar which had so often allowed him to pass, emerged from the garden, and said: "I will go."
Mad with grief, no longer conscious of anything fixed or solid in his brain, incapable of accepting anything thenceforth of fate after those two months passed in the intoxication of youth and love, overwhelmed at once by all the reveries of despair, he had but one desire remaining, to make a speedy end of all.
He set out at rapid pace. He found himself most opportunely armed, as he had Javert's pistols with him.
The young man of whom he thought that he had caught a glimpse, had vanished from his sight in the street.
Marius, who had emerged from the Rue Plumet by the boulevard, traversed the Esplanade and the bridge of the Invalides, the Champs Elysees, the Place Louis XV., and reached the Rue de Rivoli. The shops were open there, the gas was burning under the arcades, women were making their purchases in the stalls, people were eating ices in the Cafe Laiter, and nibbling small cakes at the English pastry-cook's shop. Only a few posting-chaises were setting out at a gallop from the Hotel des Princes and the Hotel Meurice.
Marius entered the Rue Saint-Honore through the Passage Delorme. There the shops were closed, the merchants were chatting in front of their half-open doors, people were walking about, the street lanterns were lighted, beginning with the first floor, all the windows were lighted as usual. There was cavalry on the Place du Palais-Royal.
Marius followed the Rue Saint-Honore. In proportion as he left the Palais-Royal behind him, there were fewer lighted windows, the shops were fast shut, no one was chatting on the thresholds, the street grew sombre, and, at the same time, the crowd increased in density. For the passers-by now amounted to a crowd. No one could be seen to speak in this throng, and yet there arose from it a dull, deep murmur.
Near the fountain of the Arbre-Sec, there were "assemblages", motionless and gloomy groups which were to those who went and came as stones in the midst of running water.
At the entrance to the Rue des Prouvaires, the crowd no longer walked. It formed a resisting, massive, solid, compact, almost impenetrable block of people who were huddled together, and conversing in low tones. There were hardly any black coats or round hats now, but smock frocks, blouses, caps, and bristling and cadaverous heads. This multitude undulated confusedly in the nocturnal gloom. Its whisperings had the hoarse accent of a vibration. Although not one of them was walking, a dull trampling was audible in the mire. Beyond this dense portion of the throng, in the Rue du Roule, in the Rue des Prouvaires, and in the extension of the Rue Saint-Honore, there was no longer a single window in which a candle was burning. Only the solitary and diminishing rows of lanterns could be seen vanishing into the street in the distance. The lanterns of that date resembled large red stars, hanging to ropes, and shed upon the pavement a shadow which had the form of a huge spider. These streets were not deserted. There could be descried piles of guns, moving bayonets, and troops bivouacking. No curious observer passed that limit. There circulation ceased. There the rabble ended and the army began.
Marius willed with the will of a man who hopes no more. He had been summoned, he must go. He found a means to traverse the throng and to pass the bivouac of the troops, he shunned the patrols,he avoided the sentinels. He made a circuit, reached the Rue de Bethisy, and directed his course towards the Halles. At the corner of the Rue des Bourdonnais, there were no longer any lanterns.
After having passed the zone of the crowd, he had passed the limits of the troops; he found himself in something startling. There was no longer a passer-by, no longer a soldier, no longer a light, there was no one; solitude, silence, night, I know not what chill which seized hold upon one. Entering a street was like entering a cellar.
He continued to advance.
He took a few steps. Some one passed close to him at a run. Was it a man? Or a woman? Were there many of them? He could not have told. It had passed and vanished.
Proceeding from circuit to circuit, he reached a lane which he judged to be the Rue de la Poterie; near the middle of this street, he came in contact with an obstacle. He extended his hands. It was an overturned wagon; his foot recognized pools of water, gullies, and paving-stones scattered and piled up. A barricade had been begun there and abandoned. He climbed over the stones and found himself on the other side of the barrier. He walked very near the street-posts, and guided himself along the walls of the houses. A little beyond the barricade, it seemed to him that he could make out something white in front of him. He approached, it took on a form. It was two white horses; the horses of the omnibus harnessed by Bossuet in the morning, who had been straying at random all day from street to street, and had finally halted there, with the weary patience of brutes who no more understand the actions of men, than man understands the actions of Providence.
Marius left the horses behind him. As he was approaching a street which seemed to him to be the Rue du Contrat-Social, a shot coming no one knows whence, and traversing the darkness at random, whistled close by him, and the bullet pierced a brass shaving-dish suspended above his head over a hairdresser's shop. This pierced shaving-dish was still to be seen in 1848, in the Rue du Contrat-Social, at the corner of the pillars of the market.
This shot still betokened life. From that instant forth he encountered nothing more.
The whole of this itinerary resembled a descent of black steps.
Nevertheless, Marius pressed forward.
先头在昏黄的暮色中喊马吕斯到麻厂街街垒去的那声音，对他来说，好象是出自司命神的召唤。他正求死不得，死的机会却自动找他来了，他正敲着墓门，而黑暗中有一只手把钥匙递给了他。出现在陷入黑暗的失意人眼前的阴森出路是具有吸引力的。马吕斯扒开那条曾让他多次通过的铁条，走出园子并说道：“我们一同去吧！”
马吕斯已经痛苦到发疯，不再有任何坚定的主见，经过这两个月来的青春和爱情的陶醉，他已完全失去了掌握自己命运的能力，已被失望中的种种妄想所压倒，他这时只有一个愿望：早日一死了之。
他拔步往前奔。刚好他身上带有武器，沙威的那两支手枪。
他自以为见过一眼的那个小伙子，到街上却不见了。
马吕斯离开了卜吕梅街，走上林荫大道，穿过残废军人院前的大广场和残废军人院桥、爱丽舍广场、路易十五广场，到了里沃利街。那里的商店都还开着，拱门下面点着煤气灯，妇女在商店里买东西，还有些人在莱泰咖啡馆里吃冰淇凌，在英国点心店里吃小酥饼。只有少数几辆邮车从亲王旅社和默里斯旅社奔驰出发。
马吕斯经过德乐姆通道进入圣奥诺雷街。那里的店铺都关了门，商人们在半掩的门前谈话，路上还有行人来往，路灯还亮着，每层楼的窗子里，和平时一样，都还有灯光。王宫广场上有马队。
马吕斯沿着圣奥诺雷街往前走。走过王宫，有光的窗口便逐渐稀少了，店铺已关紧了门，不再有人在门口聊天，街越来越暗，同时人却越来越多。因为路上行人现在已是成群结伙的了。在人群中没有人谈话，却能听到一片低沉的嗡嗡耳语声。在枯树喷泉附近，有些“聚会”，一伙一伙神情郁闷的人停在行人来往的路上不动，有如流水中的砥石。
到了勃鲁维尔街街口，人群已不再前进。那是结结实实一堆低声谈论着的群众，紧凑密集，无隙可通，推挤不动，几乎无法渗透。里面几乎没有穿黑衣服戴圆边帽的人。是些穿罩衫、布褂、戴鸭舌帽、头发蓬乱竖立、面如土色的人。这一大群人在夜雾中暗暗浮动。他们的耳语有如风雨声。虽然没有人走动却能听到脚踏泥浆的声音。在这一堆人更远一点的地方，在鲁尔街、勃鲁维尔街和圣奥诺雷街的尽头，只有一扇玻璃窗里还有烛光。在这些街道上，还可以看见一行行零零落落、逐渐稀少的灯笼。那个时代的灯笼就象是吊在绳子上的大红星，它的影子投射在街上象个大蜘蛛。在这几条街上，不是没有人。那儿有一簇簇架在一起的步枪，晃动的枪刺和露宿的士兵。谁也不敢越过这些地方去满足好奇心。那儿是交通停止，行人留步，军队开始的地方。
马吕斯无所希求，也就无所畏忌。有人来喊过他，他便应当去。他想尽办法，穿过那人群，穿过露宿的士兵，避开巡逻队，避开岗哨。他绕了一个圈子，到了贝迪西街，朝着菜市场走去。到布尔东内街转角处，已经没有灯笼了。
他穿过人群密集的地区，越过了军队布防的前线，他到了一个可怕的地方。没有一个过路的人，没有一个兵，没有一点光，啥也没有，孤零零，冷清清，夜深沉，使人好不心悸。走进一条街，就象走进一个地窖。
他继续往前走。
他走了几步。有人从他身边跑过。是个男人？是个女人？
是几个人？他答不上。跑了过去便不见了。
绕来绕去，他绕进了一条小胡同，他想那是陶器街，在这小胡同的中段，他撞在一个障碍物上。他伸手去摸，那是一辆翻倒了的小车；他的脚感到处处是泥浆、水坑、分散各处而又成堆的石块。那里有一座已经动手建立，随即又放弃了的街垒。他越过那些石块，到了垒址的另一边。他靠近墙角石，摸着房屋的墙壁往前走。在离废址不远的地方，他仿佛看见他面前有什么白色的东西。他走近去，才看清那东西的形状。原来是两匹白马，早上博须埃从公共马车上解下来的马，它们在街上游荡了一整天，结果到了这地方。这两匹马带着那种随遇而安、耐心等待的畜生性格，无目的地荡来荡去，它们不懂人的行动，正如人不懂上苍的行动一样。
马吕斯绕过那两匹马往前走。他走近一条街，他想是民约街，到那儿时，不知从什么地方飞来一颗枪弹，穿过黑暗的空间紧擦他的耳边，嘘的一声，把他身旁一家理发铺子门上挂在他头上方的一只刮胡子用的铜盘打了个窟窿。一八四六年，在民约街靠菜市场的那些柱子拐角的地方，人们还能看见这只被打穿了的铜盘。
有这一枪，总还说明那地方有人在活动。此后，他便什么也没有遇到了。
他走的这整条路线好象是一条在夜间摸黑下山的梯级。
马吕斯照样往前走。