The officer, Theodule Gillenormand, now a captain, had come from Chartres, where he was stationed in garrison, to be present at the wedding of his cousin Pontmercy.
Cosette did not recognize him.
He, on his side, habituated as he was to have women consider him handsome, retained no more recollection of Cosette than of any other woman.
“How right I was not to believe in that story about the lancer!” said Father Gillenormand, to himself.
Cosette had never been more tender with Jean Valjean.
She was in unison with Father Gillenormand; while he erected joy into aphorisms and maxims, she exhaled goodness like a perfume.
Happiness desires that all the world should be happy.
She regained, for the purpose of addressing Jean Valjean, inflections of voice belonging to the time when she was a little girl.
She caressed him with her smile.
A banquet had been spread in the dining-room.
Illumination as brilliant as the daylight is the necessary seasoning of a great joy.
Mist and obscurity are not accepted by the happy.
They do not consent to be black.
The night, yes; the shadows, no.
If there is no sun, one must be made.
The dining-room was full of gay things.
In the centre, above the white and glittering table, was a Venetian lustre with flat plates, with all sorts of colored birds, blue, violet, red, and green, perched amid the candles; around the chandelier, girandoles, on the walls, sconces with triple and quintuple branches; mirrors, silverware, glassware, plate, porcelain, faience, pottery, gold and silversmith’s work, all was sparkling and gay.
The empty spaces between the candelabra were filled in with bouquets, so that where there was not a light, there was a flower.
In the antechamber, three violins and a flute softly played quartettes by Haydn.
Jean Valjean had seated himself on a chair in the drawing-room, behind the door, the leaf of which folded back upon him in such a manner as to nearly conceal him.
A few moments before they sat down to table, Cosette came, as though inspired by a sudden whim, and made him a deep courtesy, spreading out her bridal toilet with both hands, and with a tenderly roguish glance, she asked him:
“Father, are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” said Jean Valjean, “I am content!”
“Well, then, laugh.”
Jean Valjean began to laugh.
A few moments later, Basque announced that dinner was served.
The guests, preceded by M. Gillenormand with Cosette on his arm, entered the dining-room, and arranged themselves in the proper order around the table.
Two large armchairs figured on the right and left of the bride, the first for M. Gillenormand, the other for Jean Valjean.
M. Gillenormand took his seat.
The other armchair remained empty.
They looked about for M. Fauchelevent.
He was no longer there.
M. Gillenormand questioned Basque.
“Do you know where M. Fauchelevent is?”
“Sir,” replied Basque, “I do, precisely. M. Fauchelevent told me to say to you, sir, that he was suffering, his injured hand was paining him somewhat, and that he could not dine with Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne.
That he begged to be excused, that he would come to-morrow.
He has just taken his departure.”
That empty armchair chilled the effusion of the wedding feast for a moment.
But, if M. Fauchelevent was absent, M. Gillenormand was present, and the grandfather beamed for two.
He affirmed that M. Fauchelevent had done well to retire early, if he were suffering, but that it was only a slight ailment.
This declaration sufficed.
Moreover, what is an obscure corner in such a submersion of joy?
Cosette and Marius were passing through one of those egotistical and blessed moments when no other faculty is left to a person than that of receiving happiness.
And then, an idea occurred to M. Gillenormand.—“Pardieu, this armchair is empty.
Come hither, Marius.
Your aunt will permit it, although she has a right to you.
This armchair is for you.
That is legal and delightful.
Fortunatus beside Fortunata.”—Applause from the whole table.
Marius took Jean Valjean’s place beside Cosette, and things fell out so that Cosette, who had, at first, been saddened by Jean Valjean’s absence, ended by being satisfied with it.