Fix the sum yourself, it shall be counted out to you.
Do not fear to set it very high.”
“I thank you, sir,” replied Jean Valjean, gently.
He remained in thought for a moment, mechanically passing the tip of his fore-finger across his thumb-nail, then he lifted up his voice:
“All is nearly over.
But one last thing remains for me . . .”
“What is it?”
Jean Valjean struggled with what seemed a last hesitation, and, without voice, without breath, he stammered rather than said:
“Now that you know, do you think, sir, you, who are the master, that I ought not to see Cosette any more?”
“I think that would be better,” replied Marius coldly.
“I shall never see her more,” murmured Jean Valjean. And he directed his steps towards the door.
He laid his hand on the knob, the latch yielded, the door opened.
Jean Valjean pushed it open far enough to pass through, stood motionless for a second, then closed the door again and turned to Marius.
He was no longer pale, he was livid.
There were no longer any tears in his eyes, but only a sort of tragic flame.
His voice had regained a strange composure.
“Stay, sir,” he said. “If you will allow it, I will come to see her.
I assure you that I desire it greatly.
If I had not cared to see Cosette, I should not have made to you the confession that I have made, I should have gone away; but, as I desired to remain in the place where Cosette is, and to continue to see her, I had to tell you about it honestly.
You follow my reasoning, do you not? it is a matter easily understood.
You see, I have had her with me for more than nine years.
We lived first in that hut on the boulevard, then in the convent, then near the Luxembourg.
That was where you saw her for the first time.
You remember her blue plush hat.
Then we went to the Quartier des Invalides, where there was a railing on a garden, the Rue Plumet.
I lived in a little back court-yard, whence I could hear her piano.
That was my life.
We never left each other.
That lasted for nine years and some months.
I was like her own father, and she was my child.
I do not know whether you understand, Monsieur Pontmercy, but to go away now, never to see her again, never to speak to her again, to no longer have anything, would be hard.
If you do not disapprove of it, I will come to see Cosette from time to time.
I will not come often.
I will not remain long.
You shall give orders that I am to be received in the little waiting-room.
On the ground floor.
I could enter perfectly well by the back door, but that might create surprise perhaps, and it would be better, I think, for me to enter by the usual door.
Truly, sir, I should like to see a little more of Cosette.
As rarely as you please.
Put yourself in my place, I have nothing left but that.
And then, we must be cautious.
If I no longer come at all, it would produce a bad effect, it would be considered singular.
What I can do, by the way, is to come in the afternoon, when night is beginning to fall.”
“You shall come every evening,” said Marius, “and Cosette will be waiting for you.”
“You are kind, sir,” said Jean Valjean.
Marius saluted Jean Valjean, happiness escorted despair to the door, and these two men parted.
CHAPTER II—THE OBSCURITIES WHICH A REVELATION CAN CONTAIN
Marius was quite upset.
The sort of estrangement which he had always felt towards the man beside whom he had seen Cosette, was now explained to him.
There was something enigmatic about that person, of which his instinct had warned him.