You are her father, and mine.
You shall not pass another day in this dreadful house.
Do not imagine that you will be here to-morrow.”
“To-morrow,” said Jean Valjean, “I shall not be here, but I shall not be with you.”
“What do you mean?” replied Marius. “Ah! come now, we are not going to permit any more journeys.
You shall never leave us again.
You belong to us.
We shall not loose our hold of you.”
“This time it is for good,” added Cosette.
“We have a carriage at the door.
I shall run away with you.
If necessary, I shall employ force.”
And she laughingly made a movement to lift the old man in her arms.
“Your chamber still stands ready in our house,” she went on.
“If you only knew how pretty the garden is now!
The azaleas are doing very well there.
The walks are sanded with river sand; there are tiny violet shells.
You shall eat my strawberries.
I water them myself.
And no more ‘madame,’ no more ‘Monsieur Jean,’ we are living under a Republic, everybody says thou, don’t they, Marius?
The programme is changed.
If you only knew, father, I have had a sorrow, there was a robin redbreast which had made her nest in a hole in the wall, and a horrible cat ate her.
My poor, pretty, little robin red-breast which used to put her head out of her window and look at me!
I cried over it.
I should have liked to kill the cat.
But now nobody cries any more.
Everybody laughs, everybody is happy.
You are going to come with us.
How delighted grandfather will be!
You shall have your plot in the garden, you shall cultivate it, and we shall see whether your strawberries are as fine as mine.
And, then, I shall do everything that you wish, and then, you will obey me prettily.”
Jean Valjean listened to her without hearing her.
He heard the music of her voice rather than the sense of her words; one of those large tears which are the sombre pearls of the soul welled up slowly in his eyes.
He murmured:
“The proof that God is good is that she is here.”
“Father!” said Cosette.
Jean Valjean continued:
“It is quite true that it would be charming for us to live together.
Their trees are full of birds.
I would walk with Cosette.
It is sweet to be among living people who bid each other ‘good-day,’ who call to each other in the garden.
People see each other from early morning.
We should each cultivate our own little corner.
She would make me eat her strawberries. I would make her gather my roses.
That would be charming.
Only . . .”
He paused and said gently:
“It is a pity.”
The tear did not fall, it retreated, and Jean Valjean replaced it with a smile.
Cosette took both the old man’s hands in hers.