Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [446]
One afternoon—it was one of the early days of April, already warm, still fresh, the season of the great cheerfulness of the sunshine, the gardens which lay about Marius’ and Cosette’s windows felt the emotion of awakening, the hawthorn was beginning to peep, a jewelled array of gilliflowers displayed themselves upon the old walls, the rosy wolf-mouths gaped in the cracks of the stones, there was a charming beginning of daisies and buttercups in the grass, the white butterflies of the year made their first appearance, the wind, that minstrel of the eternal wedding, essayed in the trees the first notes of that grand auroral symphony which the old poets called the renouveau—Marius said to Cosette: “We have said that we would go to see our garden in the Rue Plumet again. Let us go. We must not be ungrateful.” And they flew away like two swallows towards the spring. This garden in the Rue Plumet had the effect of the dawn upon them. They had behind them in life already something which was like the spring time of their love. The house in the Rue Plumet being taken on a lease, still belonged to Cosette. They went to this garden and this house. In it they found themselves again; they forgot themselves. At night, at the usual hour, Jean Valjean came to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. “Madame has gone out with monsieur, and has not returned yet,” said Basque to him. He sat down in silence, and waited an hour. Cosette did not return. He bowed his head and went away.
Cosette was so intoxicated with her walk to “the garden,” and so happy over having “lived a whole day in her past,” that she did not speak of anything else the next day. It did not occur to her that she had not seen Jean Valjean.
“How did you go there?” Jean Valjean asked her.
“We walked.”
“And how did you return?”
“In a fiacre.”
For some time Jean Valjean had noticed the frugal life which the young couple led. He was annoyed at it. Marius’ economy was severe, and the word to Jean Valjean had its absolute sense. He ventured a question:
“Why have you no carriage of your own? A pretty brougham would cost you only five hundred francs a month. You are rich.”
“I don’t know,” answered Cosette.
“So with Toussaint,” continued Jean Valjean. “She has gone away. You have not replaced her. Why not?”
“Nicolette is enough.”
“But you must have a waiting maid.”
“Have not I Marius?”
“You ought to have a house of your own, servants of your own, a carriage, a box at the theatre. There is nothing too good for you. Why not have the advantages of being rich? Riches add to happiness.”
Cosette made no answer.
Jean Valjean’s visits did not grow shorter. Far from it. When the heart is slipping we do not stop on the descent.
When Jean Valjean desired to prolong his visit, and to make the hours pass unnoticed, he eulogised Marius; he thought him beautiful, noble, courageous, intellectual, eloquent, good. Cosette surpassed him. Jean Valjean began again. They were never silent. Marius, this word was inexhaustible; there were volumes in these six letters. In this way Jean Valjean succeeded in staying a long time. To see Cosette, to forget at her side, it was so sweet to him. It was the staunching of his wound. It happened several times that Basque came down twice to say: “Monsieur Gillenormand sends me to remind Madame the Baroness that dinner is served.”
On those days, Jean Valjean returned home very thoughtful.
Was there, then, some truth in that comparison of the chrysalis which had presented itself to Marius’ mind? Was Jean Valjean indeed a chrysalis who was obstinate, and who came to make visits to his butterfly?
One day he stayed longer than usual. The next day, he noticed that there was no fire in the fireplace. “What!” thought he. “No fire.” And he made the explanation to himself: “It is a matter of course. We are in April. The cold weather is over.”
“Goodness! how cold it is here!” exclaimed Cosette as she came in.
“Why no,” said Jean Valjean.
“So it is you who told Basque not to make a fire?”
“Yes. We are close upon May.”
“But we have fire until the month of June.