She began to stroll about under the trees, thrusting aside the branches from time to time with her hand, because there were some which hung very low.
In this manner she reached the bench.
The stone was still there.
She sat down, and gently laid her white hand on this stone as though she wished to caress and thank it.
All at once, she experienced that indefinable impression which one undergoes when there is some one standing behind one, even when she does not see the person.
She turned her head and rose to her feet.
It was he.
His head was bare.
He appeared to have grown thin and pale.
His black clothes were hardly discernible.
The twilight threw a wan light on his fine brow, and covered his eyes in shadows.
Beneath a veil of incomparable sweetness, he had something about him that suggested death and night.
His face was illuminated by the light of the dying day, and by the thought of a soul that is taking flight.
He seemed to be not yet a ghost, and he was no longer a man.
He had flung away his hat in the thicket, a few paces distant.
Cosette, though ready to swoon, uttered no cry.
She retreated slowly, for she felt herself attracted.
He did not stir.
By virtue of something ineffable and melancholy which enveloped him, she felt the look in his eyes which she could not see.
Cosette, in her retreat, encountered a tree and leaned against it.
Had it not been for this tree, she would have fallen.
Then she heard his voice, that voice which she had really never heard, barely rising above the rustle of the leaves, and murmuring:—
“Pardon me, here I am.
My heart is full. I could not live on as I was living, and I have come.
Have you read what I placed there on the bench?
Do you recognize me at all?
Have no fear of me.
It is a long time, you remember the day, since you looked at me at the Luxembourg, near the Gladiator.
And the day when you passed before me?
It was on the 16th of June and the 2d of July.
It is nearly a year ago. I have not seen you for a long time.
I inquired of the woman who let the chairs, and she told me that she no longer saw you.
You lived in the Rue de l’Ouest, on the third floor, in the front apartments of a new house,—you see that I know!
I followed you.
What else was there for me to do?
And then you disappeared.
I thought I saw you pass once, while I was reading the newspapers under the arcade of the Odeon.
I ran after you.
But no.
It was a person who had a bonnet like yours.
At night I came hither.
Do not be afraid, no one sees me.
I come to gaze upon your windows near at hand.
I walk very softly, so that you may not hear, for you might be alarmed.
The other evening I was behind you, you turned round, I fled.
Once, I heard you singing.
I was happy.
Did it affect you because I heard you singing through the shutters?
That could not hurt you.
No, it is not so?