by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER III.
THE INSEPARABLE.
What had become of Jean Valjean? Directly after he had laughed inaccordance with Cosette's request, as no one was paying any attentionto him, Jean Valjean rose, and unnoticed reached the anteroom. It wasthe same room which he had entered eight months previously, blackwith mud and blood and gunpowder, bringing back the grandson to thegrandfather. The old panelling was garlanded with flowers and leaves,the musicians were seated on the sofa upon which Marius had beendeposited. Basque, in black coat, knee-breeches, white cravat, andwhite gloves, was placing wreaths of roses round each of the disheswhich was going to be served up. Jean Valjean showed him his arm in thesling, requested him to explain his absence, and quitted the house.The windows of the dining-room looked out on the street, and Valjeanstood for some minutes motionless in the obscurity of those radiantwindows. He listened, and the confused sound of the banquet reachedhis ears; he heard the grandfather's loud and dictatorial voice, theviolins, the rattling of plates and glasses, the bursts of laughter,and amid all these gay sounds he distinguished Cosette's soft, happyvoice. He left the Rue des Filles du Calvaire and returned to theRue de l'Homme Armé. In going home he went along the Rue St. Louis,the Rue Culture-Sainte-Catherine, and the Blancs Manteaux; it was alittle longer, but it was the road by which he had been accustomed tocome with Cosette during the last three months, in order to avoid thecrowd and mud of the Rue Vieille du Temple. This road, which Cosettehad passed along, excluded the idea of any other itinerary for him.Jean Valjean returned home, lit his candle, and went upstairs. Theapartments were empty; not even Toussaint was in there now. JeanValjean's footsteps made more noise in the rooms than usual. All thewardrobes were open; he entered Cosette's room, and there were nosheets on the bed. The pillow, without a case or lace, was laid on theblankets folded at the foot of the bed, in which no one was going tosleep again. All the small feminine articles to which Cosette clung hadbeen removed; only the heavy furniture and the four walls remained.Toussaint's bed was also unmade, and the only one made which seemed tobe expecting somebody was Jean Valjean's. Jean Valjean looked at thewalls, closed some of the wardrobe drawers, and walked in and out ofthe rooms. Then he returned to his own room and placed his candle onthe table; he had taken his arm out of the sling, and used it as ifhe were suffering no pain in it. He went up to his bed and his eyesfell--was it by accident or was it purposely?--on the _inseparable_of which Cosette had been jealous, the little valise which never lefthim. On June 4, when he arrived at the Rue de l'Homme Armé, he laidit on a table; he now walked up to this table with some eagerness,took the key out of his pocket, and opened the portmanteau. Heslowly drew out the clothes in which, ten years previously, Cosettehad left Montfermeil; first, the little black dress, then the blackhandkerchief, then the stout shoes, which Cosette could almost haveworn still, so small was her foot; next the petticoat, then the apron,and lastly, the woollen stockings. These stockings, in which theshape of a little leg was gracefully marked, were no longer than JeanValjean's hand. All these articles were black, and it was he who tookthem for her to Montfermeil. He laid each article on the bed as he tookit out, and he thought and remembered. It was in winter, a very coldDecember; she was shivering under her rags, and her poor feet werequite red in her wooden shoes. He, Jean Valjean, had made her take offthese rags and put on this mourning garb; the mother must have beenpleased in her tomb to see her daughter wearing mourning for her, andabove all, to see that she was well clothed and was warm. He thoughtof that forest of Montfermeil, he thought what the weather was, of thetrees without leaves, of the wood without birds and the sky withoutsun; but no matter, it was charming. He arranged the little clothes onthe bed, the handkerchief near the petticoat, the stockings along withthe shoes, the apron by the side of the dress, and he looked at themone after the other. She was not much taller than that, she had herlarge doll in her arms, she had put her louis d'or in the pocket ofthis apron, she laughed, they walked along holding each other's hand,and she had no one but him in the world.
Then his venerable white head fell on the bed, his old stoical heartbroke, his face was buried in Cosette's clothes, and had any one passedupstairs at that moment he would have heard frightful sobs.
