by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER II.
OTHER BACKWARD STEPS.
The next day Jean Valjean came at the same hour, and Cosette asked himno questions, was no longer astonished, no longer exclaimed that it wascold, no longer alluded to the drawing-room; she avoided saying eitherfather or Monsieur Jean. She allowed herself to be called Madame; therewas only a diminution of her delight perceptible, and she would havebeen sad, had sorrow been possible. It is probable that she had heldwith Marius one of those conversations in which the beloved man sayswhat he wishes, explains nothing, and satisfies the beloved woman; forthe curiosity of lovers does not extend far beyond their love. Thebasement room had been furbished up a little; Basque had suppressedthe bottles, and Nicolette the spiders. Every following day broughtJean Valjean back at the same hour; he came daily, as he had not thestrength to take Marius's permission otherwise than literally. Mariusarranged so as to be absent at the hour when Jean Valjean came, andthe house grew accustomed to M. Fauchelevent's new mode of behaving.Toussaint helped in it; "My master was always so," she repeated. Thegrandfather issued this decree, "He is an original," and everythingwas said. Moreover, at the age of ninety no connection is possible;everything is juxtaposition, and a new-comer is in the way; there is noplace for him, for habits are unalterably formed. M. Fauchelevent, M.Tranchelevent,--Father Gillenormand desired nothing better than to getrid of "that gentleman," and added, "Nothing is more common than suchoriginals. They do all sorts of strange things without any motive. TheMarquis de Canoples did worse, for he bought a palace in order to livein the garret."
No one caught a glimpse of the sinister reality, and in feet who couldhave divined such a thing? There are marshes like this in India: thewater seems extraordinary, inexplicable, rippling when there is nobreeze, and agitated when it ought to be calm. People look at thesurface of this ebullition which has no cause, and do not suspect thehydra dragging itself along at the bottom. Many men have in this way asecret monster, an evil which they nourish, a dragon that gnaws them, adespair that dwells in their night. Such a man resembles others, comesand goes, and no one knows that he has within him a frightful parasiticpain with a thousand teeth, which dwells in the wretch and kills him.They do not know that this man is a gulf; he is stagnant but deep. Fromtime to time a trouble which no one understands is produced on hissurface; a mysterious ripple forms, then fades away, then reappears; abubble rises and bursts. It is a slight thing, but it is terrible, forit is the respiration of the unknown boast. Certain strange habits,such as arriving at the hour when others go away, hiding one's selfwhen others show themselves, wearing on all occasions what may becalled the wall-colored cloak, seeking the solitary walk, preferringthe deserted street, not mixing in conversation, avoiding crowds andfestivities, appearing to be comfortably off and living poorly, having,rich though one is, one's key in one's pocket and one's candle inthe porter's lodge, entering by the small door and going up the backstairs,--all these insignificant singularities, ripples, air-bubbles,and fugitive marks on the surface, frequently come from a formidabledepth.
Several weeks passed thus; a new life gradually seized on Cosette,--therelations which marriage creates, visits, the management of thehousehold, and pleasures, that great business. The pleasures of Cosettewere not costly; they consisted in only one, being with Marius. To goout with him, remain at home with him, was the great occupation ofher life. It was for them an ever novel joy to go out arm in arm, inthe sunshine, in the open streets, without hiding themselves, in theface of everybody, both alone. Cosette had one vexation: Toussaintcould not agree with Nicolette (for the welding of the two old maidswas impossible), and left. The grandfather was quite well; Mariushad a few briefs now and then; Aunt Gillenormand peacefully livedwith the married pair that lateral life which sufficed her, and JeanValjean came daily. The Madame and the Monsieur Jean, however, madehim different to Cosette, and the care he had himself taken to detachhimself from her succeeded. She was more and more gay, and less andless affectionate; and yet she loved him dearly still, and he feltit One day she suddenly said to him, "You were my father, you are nolonger my father; you were my uncle, you are no longer my uncle; youwere Monsieur Fauchelevent, and are now Jean. Who are you, then? I donot like all this. If I did not know you to be so good, I should beafraid of you." He still lived in the Rue de l'Homme Armé, as he couldnot resolve to remove from the quarter in which Cosette lived. At firsthe stayed only a few minutes with Cosette, and then went away; but bydegrees he grew into the habit of making his visits longer. It might besaid that he took advantage of the lengthening days; he arrived soonerand went away later. One day the word "father" slipped over Cosette'slips, and a gleam of joy lit up Jean Valjean's old solemn face, but hechided her: "Say Jean."
"Ah, that is true," she replied, with a burst of laughter, "MonsieurJean."
"That is right," he said; and he turned away that she might not see thetears in his eyes.
