“I.
Since I tell you so.”
Marius looked at the man.
He was melancholy yet tranquil.
No lie could proceed from such a calm.
That which is icy is sincere.
The truth could be felt in that chill of the tomb.
“I believe you,” said Marius.
Jean Valjean bent his head, as though taking note of this, and continued:
“What am I to Cosette?
A passer-by.
Ten years ago, I did not know that she was in existence.
I love her, it is true.
One loves a child whom one has seen when very young, being old oneself.
When one is old, one feels oneself a grandfather towards all little children.
You may, it seems to me, suppose that I have something which resembles a heart.
She was an orphan.
Without either father or mother.
She needed me.
That is why I began to love her.
Children are so weak that the first comer, even a man like me, can become their protector.
I have fulfilled this duty towards Cosette.
I do not think that so slight a thing can be called a good action; but if it be a good action, well, say that I have done it.
Register this attenuating circumstance.
To-day, Cosette passes out of my life; our two roads part.
Henceforth, I can do nothing for her.
She is Madame Pontmercy.
Her providence has changed.
And Cosette gains by the change.
All is well.
As for the six hundred thousand francs, you do not mention them to me, but I forestall your thought, they are a deposit.
How did that deposit come into my hands?
What does that matter?
I restore the deposit.
Nothing more can be demanded of me.
I complete the restitution by announcing my true name.
That concerns me.
I have a reason for desiring that you should know who I am.”
And Jean Valjean looked Marius full in the face.
All that Marius experienced was tumultuous and incoherent.
Certain gusts of destiny produce these billows in our souls.
We have all undergone moments of trouble in which everything within us is dispersed; we say the first things that occur to us, which are not always precisely those which should be said.
There are sudden revelations which one cannot bear, and which intoxicate like baleful wine.
Marius was stupefied by the novel situation which presented itself to him, to the point of addressing that man almost like a person who was angry with him for this avowal.
“But why,” he exclaimed, “do you tell me all this?
Who forces you to do so?
You could have kept your secret to yourself.
You are neither denounced, nor tracked nor pursued.
You have a reason for wantonly making such a revelation.
Conclude.