My life will have been wasted if you do not enjoy them!
We managed to do very well with those glass goods.
We rivalled what is called Berlin jewellery.
However, we could not equal the black glass of England.
A gross, which contains twelve hundred very well cut grains, only costs three francs.”
When a being who is dear to us is on the point of death, we gaze upon him with a look which clings convulsively to him and which would fain hold him back.
Cosette gave her hand to Marius, and both, mute with anguish, not knowing what to say to the dying man, stood trembling and despairing before him.
Jean Valjean sank moment by moment.
He was failing; he was drawing near to the gloomy horizon.
His breath had become intermittent; a little rattling interrupted it.
He found some difficulty in moving his forearm, his feet had lost all movement, and in proportion as the wretchedness of limb and feebleness of body increased, all the majesty of his soul was displayed and spread over his brow.
The light of the unknown world was already visible in his eyes.
His face paled and smiled.
Life was no longer there, it was something else.
His breath sank, his glance grew grander.
He was a corpse on which the wings could be felt.
He made a sign to Cosette to draw near, then to Marius; the last minute of the last hour had, evidently, arrived. He began to speak to them in a voice so feeble that it seemed to come from a distance, and one would have said that a wall now rose between them and him.
“Draw near, draw near, both of you.
I love you dearly.
Oh! how good it is to die like this!
And thou lovest me also, my Cosette.
I knew well that thou still felt friendly towards thy poor old man.
How kind it was of thee to place that pillow under my loins!
Thou wilt weep for me a little, wilt thou not?
Not too much.
I do not wish thee to have any real griefs.
You must enjoy yourselves a great deal, my children.
I forgot to tell you that the profit was greater still on the buckles without tongues than on all the rest.
A gross of a dozen dozens cost ten francs and sold for sixty.
It really was a good business.
So there is no occasion for surprise at the six hundred thousand francs, Monsieur Pontmercy.
It is honest money.
You may be rich with a tranquil mind.
Thou must have a carriage, a box at the theatres now and then, and handsome ball dresses, my Cosette, and then, thou must give good dinners to thy friends, and be very happy.
I was writing to Cosette a while ago.
She will find my letter.
I bequeath to her the two candlesticks which stand on the chimney-piece.
They are of silver, but to me they are gold, they are diamonds; they change candles which are placed in them into wax-tapers.
I do not know whether the person who gave them to me is pleased with me yonder on high.
I have done what I could.
My children, you will not forget that I am a poor man, you will have me buried in the first plot of earth that you find, under a stone to mark the spot.
This is my wish.
No name on the stone.
If Cosette cares to come for a little while now and then, it will give me pleasure.
And you too, Monsieur Pontmercy.
I must admit that I have not always loved you. I ask your pardon for that.
Now she and you form but one for me.
I feel very grateful to you.
I am sure that you make Cosette happy.
If you only knew, Monsieur Pontmercy, her pretty rosy cheeks were my delight; when I saw her in the least pale, I was sad.