CHAPTER VI.
THE OLD PEOPLE ARE OPPORTUNELY OBLIGED TO GO OUT.
When night came Jean Valjean went out, and Cosette dressed herself. Shearranged her hair in the way that best became her, and put on a dresswhose body, being cut a little too low, displayed the whole of theneck, and was therefore, as girls say, "rather indecent." It was notthe least in the world indecent, but it was prettier than the formerfashion. She dressed herself in this way without knowing why. Was shegoing out? No. Did she expect a visitor? No. She went down into thegarden as it grew dark; Toussaint was engaged in her kitchen, whichlooked out on the back-yard. Cosette began walking under the branches,removing them from time to time with her hand, as some were very low,and thus reached the bench. The stone was still there, and she sat downand laid her beautiful white hand on the stone, as if to caress andthank it. All at once she had that indescribable feeling which peopleexperience even without seeing, when some one is standing behind them.She turned her head and rose,--it was he. He was bareheaded, and seemedpale and thin, and his black clothes could be scarce distinguished. Thetwilight rendered his glorious forehead livid, and covered his eyeswith darkness; and he had, beneath a veil of incomparable gentleness,something belonging to death and night. His face was lit up by theflush of departing day, and by the thoughts of an expiring soul. Heseemed as if he were not yet a spectre, but was no longer a man. Hishat was thrown among the shrubs a few paces from him. Cosette, thoughready to faint, did not utter a cry; she slowly recoiled, as she feltherself attracted, but he did not stir. Through the ineffable sadnessthat enveloped him she felt the glance of the eyes which she could notsee. Cosette, in recoiling, came to a tree, and leaned against it;had it not been for this tree she would have fallen. Then she heardhis voice, that voice which she had really never heard before, scarcelouder than the rustling of the foliage, as he murmured,--
"Pardon me for being here; my heart is swollen. I could not live as Iwas, and I have come. Have you read what I placed on that bench? Do yourecognize me at all? Do not be frightened at me. Do you remember thatday when you looked at me, now so long ago? It was in the Luxembourggarden near the Gladiator, and the days on which you passed beforeme were June 16 and July 2; it is nearly a year ago. I have not seenyou again for a very long time. I inquired of the woman who lets outchairs, and she said that you no longer came there. You lived in theRue de l'Ouest on the third-floor front of a new house. You see that Iknow. I followed you, what else could I do? And then you disappeared.I fancied that I saw you pass once as I was reading the papers underthe Odéon Arcade, and ran after you, but no, it was a person wearinga bonnet like yours. At night I come here--fear nothing, no one seesme. I come to gaze and be near your windows, and I walk very softlythat you may not hear me, for you might be alarmed. The other eveningI was behind you; you turned round, and I fled. Once I heard you sing;I was happy. Does it harm you that I should listen to you through theshutters while singing? No, it cannot harm you. You see, you are myangel, so let me come now and then. I believe that I am going to die.If you only knew how I adore you! Forgive me for speaking to you. Iknow not what I am saying, perhaps I offend you--do I offend you?--"
"Oh, my mother!" said she.
And she sank down as if she were dying. He seized her in his arms andpressed her to his heart, not knowing what he did. He supported herwhile himself tottering. He felt as if his head were full of smoke;flashes passed between his eye-lashes. His ideas left him; and itseemed to him as if he were accomplishing a religious act, and yetcommitting a profanation. However, he had not the least desire forthis ravishing creature, whose form he felt against his bosom; he wasdistractedly in love. She took his hand, and laid it on her heart; hefelt the paper there, and stammered,--
"You love me, then?"
She answered in so low a voice that it was almost an inaudible breath,--
"Silence! you know I do."
And she hid her blushing face in the bosom of the proud and intoxicatedyoung man. He fell on to the bench, and she by his side. They no longerfound words, and the stars were beginning to twinkle. How came it thattheir lips met? How comes it that the bird sings, the snow melts, therose opens, May bursts into life, and the dawn grows white behind theblack trees on the rustling tops of the hills? One kiss, and thatwas all. Both trembled and gazed at each other in the darkness withflashing eyes. They neither felt the fresh night nor the cold stone,nor the damp grass, nor the moist soil,--they looked at each other, andtheir hearts were full of thought. Their hands were clasped withouttheir cognizance. She did not ask him, did not even think of it, how hehad managed to enter the garden; for it seemed to her so simple thathe should be there. From time to time Marius's knee touched Cosette'sknee, and both quivered. At intervals Cosette stammered a word; hersoul trembled on her lips like the dewdrop on a flower.
Gradually they conversed, and expansiveness succeeded the silence whichis plenitude. The night was serene and splendid above their heads, andthese two beings, pure as spirits, told each other everything,--theirdreams, their intoxication, their ecstasy, their chimeras, theirdepressions, how they had adored and longed for each other at adistance, and their mutual despair when they ceased to meet. Theyconfided to each other in an ideal intimacy which nothing henceforthcould increase all their most hidden and mysterious thoughts. Theytold each other, with a candid faith in their illusions, all thatlove, youth, and the remnant of childhood which they still had, broughtto their minds. Their two hearts were poured into each other; so thatat the end of an hour the young man had the maiden's soul and themaiden his. They were mutually penetrated, enchanted, and dazzled. Whenthey had finished, when they had told each other everything, she laidher head on his shoulder and asked him,--
"What is your name?"
"Marius," he said; "and yours?"
"Mine is Cosette."
BOOK VI.
LITTLE GAVROCHE.