Part 5 Book 7 Chapter 1 The Seventh Circle and the Eighth He
The days that follow weddings are solitary. People respect the meditations of the happy pair. And also, their tardy slumbers, to some degree. The tumult of visits and congratulations only begins later on. On the morning of the 17th of February, it was a little past midday when Basque, with napkin and feather-duster under his arm, busy in setting his antechamber to rights, heard a light tap at the door. There had been no ring, which was discreet on such a day. Basque opened the door, and beheld M. Fauchelevent.He introduced him into the drawing-room, still encumbered and topsy-turvy, and which bore the air of a field of battle after the joys of the preceding evening.
"Dame, sir," remarked Basque, "we all woke up late."
"Is your master up?" asked Jean Valjean.
"How is Monsieur's arm?" replied Basque.
"Better. Is your master up?"
"Which one? The old one or the new one?"
"Monsieur Pontmercy."
"Monsieur le Baron," said Basque, drawing himself up.
A man is a Baron most of all to his servants. He counts for something with them; they are what a philosopher would call, bespattered with the title, and that flatters them. Marius, be it said in passing, a militant republican as he had proved, was now a Baron in spite of himself. A small revolution had taken place in the family in connection with this title. It was now M. Gillenormand who clung to it, and Marius who detached himself from it. But Colonel Pontmercy had written: "My son will bear my title." Marius obeyed. And then, Cosette, in whom the woman was beginning to dawn, was delighted to be a Baroness.
"Monsieur le Baron?" repeated Basque. "I will go and see. I will tell him that M. Fauchelevent is here."
"No. Do not tell him that it is I. Tell him that some one wishes to speak to him in private, and mention no name."
"Ah!" ejaculated Basque.
"I wish to surprise him."
"Ah!" ejaculated Basque once more, emitting his second "ah!" as an explanation of the first.
And he left the room.
Jean Valjean remained alone.
The drawing-room, as we have just said, was in great disorder. It seemed as though, by lending an air, one might still hear the vague noise of the wedding. On the polished floor lay all sorts of flowers which had fallen from garlands and head-dresses. The wax candles, burned to stumps, added stalactites of wax to the crystal drops of the chandeliers. Not a single piece of furniture was in its place. In the corners, three or four arm-chairs, drawn close together in a circle, had the appearance of continuing a conversation. The whole effect was cheerful. A certain grace still lingers round a dead feast. It has been a happy thing. On the chairs in disarray, among those fading flowers, beneath those extinct lights, people have thought of joy. The sun had succeeded to the chandelier, and made its way gayly into the drawing-room.
Several minutes elapsed. Jean Valjean stood motionless on the spot where Basque had left him. He was very pale. His eyes were hollow, and so sunken in his head by sleeplessness that they nearly disappeared in their orbits. His black coat bore the weary folds of a garment that has been up all night. The elbows were whitened with the down which the friction of cloth against linen leaves behind it.
Jean Valjean stared at the window outlined on the polished floor at his feet by the sun.
There came a sound at the door, and he raised his eyes.
Marius entered, his head well up, his mouth smiling, an indescribable light on his countenance, his brow expanded, his eyes triumphant. He had not slept either.
"It is you, father!" he exclaimed, on catching sight of Jean Valjean; "that idiot of a Basque had such a mysterious air! But you have come too early. It is only half past twelve. Cosette is asleep."
That word: "Father," said to M. Fauchelevent by Marius, signified: supreme felicity. There had always existed, as the reader knows, a lofty wall, a coldness and a constraint between them; ice which must be broken or melted. Marius had reached that point of intoxication when the wall was lowered, when the ice dissolved, and when M. Fauchelevent was to him, as to Cosette, a father.
He continued: his words poured forth, as is the peculiari ty of divine paroxysms of joy.
"How glad I am to see you! If you only knew how we missed you yesterday! Good morning, father. How is your hand? Better, is it not?"
And, satisfied with the favorable reply which he had made to himself, he pursued:
"We have both been talking about you. Cosette loves you so dearly! You must not forget that you have a chamber here, We want nothing more to do with the Rue de l'Homme Arme. We will have no more of it at all. How could you go to live in a street like that, which is sickly, which is disagreeable, which is ugly, which has a barrier at one end, where one is cold, and into which one cannot enter? You are to come and install yourself here. And this very day. Or you will have to deal with Cosette. She means to lead us all by the nose, I warn you. You have your own chamber here, it is close to ours, it opens on the garden; the trouble with the clock has been attended to, the bed is made, it is all ready, you have only to take possession of it. Near your bed Cosette has placed a huge, old, easy-chair covered with Utrecht velvet and she has said to it: `Stretch out your arms to him.' A nightingale comes to the clump of acacias opposite your windows, every spring. In two months more you will have it. You will have its nest on your left and ours on your right. By night it will sing, and by day Cosette will prattle. Your chamber faces due South. Cosette will arrange your books for you, your Voyages of Captain Cook and the other,--Vancouver's and all your affairs. I believe that there is a little valise to which you are attached, I have fixed upon a corner of honor for that. You have conquered my grandfather, you suit him. We will live together. Do you play whist? You will overwhelm my grandfather with delight if you play whist. It is you who shall take Cosette to walk on the days when I am at the courts, you shall give her your arm, you know, as you used to, in the Luxembourg. We are absolutely resolved to be happy. And you shall be included in it, in our happiness, do you hear, father? Come, will you breakfast with us to-day?"
"Sir," said Jean Valjean, "I have something to say to you. I am an ex-convict."
The limit of shrill sounds perceptible can be overleaped, as well in the case of the mind as in that of the ear. These words: "I am an ex-convict," proceeding from the mouth of M. Fauchelevent and entering the ear of Marius overshot the possible. It seemed to him that something had just been said to him; but he did not know what. He stood with his mouth wide open.
Then he perceived that the man who was addressing him was frightful. Wholly absorbed in his own dazzled state, he had not, up to that moment, observed the other man's terrible pallor.
Jean Valjean untied the black cravat which supported his right arm, unrolled the linen from around his hand, bared his thumb and showed it to Marius.
"There is nothing the matter with my hand," said he.
Marius looked at the thumb.
"There has not been anything the matter with it," went on Jean Valjean.
There was, in fact, no trace of any injury.
Jean Valjean continued:
"It was fitting that I should be absent from your marriage. I absented myself as much as was in my power. So I invented this injury in order that I might not commit a forgery, that I might not introduce a flaw into the marriage documents, in order that I might escape from signing."
Marius stammered.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning of it is," replied Jean Valjean, "that I have been in the galleys."
"You are driving me mad!" exclaimed Marius in terror.
"Monsieur Pontmercy," said Jean Valjean, "I was nineteen years in the galleys. For theft. Then, I was condemned for life for theft, for a second offence. At the present moment, I have broken my ban."
In vain did Marius recoil before the reality, refuse the fact, resist the evidence, he was forced to give way. He began to understand, and, as always happens in such cases, he understood too much. An inward shudder of hideous enlightenment flashed through him; an idea which made him quiver traversed his mind. He caught a glimpse of a wretched destiny for himself in the future.
"Say all, say all!" he cried. "You are Cosette's father!"
And he retreated a couple of paces with a movement of indescribable horror.
Jean Valjean elevated his head with so much majesty of attitude that he seemed to grow even to the ceiling.
"It is necessary that you should believe me here, sir; although our oath to others may not be received in law . . ."
Here he paused, then, with a sort of sovereign and sepulchral authority, he added, articulating slowly, and emphasizing the syllables:
". . . You will believe me. I the father of Cosette! Before God, no. Monsieur le Baron Pontmercy, I am a peasant of Faverolles. I earned my living by pruning trees. My name is not Fauchelevent, but Jean Valjean. I am not related to Cosette. Reassure yourself."
Marius stammered:
"Who will prove that to me?"
"I.Since I tell you so."
Marius looked at the man. He was melancholy yet tranquil. No lie could proceed from such a calm. That which is icy is sincere. The truth could be felt in that chill of the tomb.
"I believe you," said Marius.
Jean Valjean bent his head, as though taking note of this, and continued:
"What am I to Cosette? A passer-by. Ten years ago, I did not know that she was in existence. I love her, it is true. One loves a child whom one has seen when very young, being old oneself. When one is old, one feels oneself a grandfather towards all little children. You may, it seems to me, suppose that I have something which resembles a heart. She was an orphan. Without either father or mother. She needed me. That is why I began to love her. Children are so weak that the first comer, even a man like me, can become their protector. I have fulfilled this duty towards Cosette. I do not think that so slight a thing can be called a good action; but if it be a good action, well, say that I have done it. Register this attenuating circumstance. To-day, Cosette passes out of my life; our two roads part. Henceforth, I can do nothing for her. She is Madame Pontmercy. Her providence has changed. And Cosette gains by the change. All is well. As for the six hundred thousand francs, you do not mention them to me, but I forestall your thought, they are a deposit. How did that deposit come into my hands? What does that matter? I restore the deposit. Nothing more can be demanded of me. I complete the restitution by announcing my true name. That concerns me. I have a reason for desiring that you should know who I am."
And Jean Valjean looked Marius full in the face.
All that Marius experienced was tumultuous and incoherent. Certain gusts of destiny produce these billows in our souls.
We have all undergone moments of trouble in which everything within us is dispersed; we say the first things that occur to us, which are not always precisely those which should be said. There are sudden revelations which one cannot bear, and which intoxicate like baleful wine. Marius was stupefied by the novel situation which presented itself to him, to the point of addressing that man almost like a person who was angry with him for this avowal.
"But why," he exclaimed, "do you tell me all this? Who forces you to do so? You could have kept your secret to yourself. You are neither denounced, nor tracked nor pursued. You have a reason for wantonly making such a revelation. Conclude. There is something more. In what connection do you make this confession? What is your motive?"
"My motive?" replied Jean Valjean in a voice so low and dull that one would have said that he was talking to himself rather than to Marius. "From what motive, in fact, has this convict just said`I am a convict'? Well, yes! The motive is strange. It is out of honesty. Stay, the unfortunate point is that I have a thread in my heart, which keeps me fast. It is when one is old that that sort of thread is particularly solid. All life falls in ruin around one; one resists. Had I been able to tear out that thread, to break it, to undo the knot or to cut it, to go far away, I should have been safe. I had only to go away; there are diligences in the Rue Bouloy; you are happy; I am going. I have tried to break that thread, I have jerked at it, it would not break, I tore my heart with it. Then I said:`I cannot live anywhere else than here.' I must stay. Well, yes, you are right, I am a fool, why not simply remain here? You offer me a chamber in this house, Madame Pontmercy is sincerely attached to me, she said to the arm-chair:`Stretch out your arms to him,' your grandfather demands nothing better than to have me, I suit him, we shall live together, and take our meals in common, I shall give Cosette my arm . . . Madame Pontmercy, excuse me, it is a habit, we shall have but one roof, one table, one fire, the same chimney-corner in winter, the same promenade in summer, that is joy, that is happiness, that is everything. We shall live as one family. One family!"
At that word, Jean Valjean became wild. He folded his arms, glared at the floor beneath his feet as though he would have excavated an abyss therein, and his voice suddenly rose in thundering tones:
"As one family! No. I belong to no family. I do not belong to yours. I do not belong to any family of men. In houses where people are among themselves, I am superfluous. There are families, but there is nothing of the sort for me. I am an unlucky wretch; I am left outside. Did I have a father and mother? I almost doubt it. On the day when I gave that child in marriage, all came to an end. I have seen her happy, and that she is with a man whom she loves, and that there exists here a kind old man, a household of two angels, and all joys in that house, and that it was well, I said to myself:`Enter thou not.' I could have lied, it is true, have deceived you all, and remained Monsieur Fauchelevent. So long as it was for her, I could lie; but now it would be for myself, and I must not. It was sufficient for me to hold my peace, it is true, and all would go on. You ask me what has forced me to speak? a very odd thing; my conscience. To hold my peace was very easy, however. I passed the night in trying to persuade myself to it; you questioned me, and what I have just said to you is so extraordinary that you have the right to do it; well, yes, I have passed the night in alleging reasons to myself, and I gave myself very good reasons, I have done what I could. But there are two things in which I have not succeeded; in breaking the thread that holds me fixed, riveted and sealed here by the heart, or in silencing some one who speaks softly to me when I am alone. That is why I have come hither to tell you everything this morning. Everything or nearly everything. It is useless to tell you that which concerns only myself; I keep that to myself. You know the essential points. So I have taken my mystery and have brought it to you. And I have disembowelled my secret before your eyes. It was not a resolution that was easy to take. I struggled all night long. Ah! You think that I did not tell myself that this was no Champmathieu affair, that by concealing my name I was doing no one any injury, that the name of Fauchelevent had been given to me by Fauchelevent himself, out of gratitude for a service rendered to him, and that I might assuredly keep it, and that I should be happy in that chamber which you offer me, that I should not be in any one's way, that I should be in my own little corner, and that, while you would have Cosette, I should have the idea that I was in the same house with her. Each one of us would have had his share of happiness. If I continued to be Monsieur Fauchelevent, that would arrange everything. Yes, with the exception of my soul. There was joy everywhere upon my surface, but the bottom of my soul remained black. It is not enough to be happy, one must be content. Thus I should have remained Monsieur Fauchelevent, thus I should have concealed my true visage, thus, in the presence of your expansion, I should have had an enigma, thus, in the midst of your full noonday, I should have had shadows, thus, without crying `'ware,' I should have simply introduced the galleys to your fireside, I should have taken my seat at your table with the thought that if you knew who I was, you would drive me from it, I should have allowed myself to be served by domestics who, had they known, would have said: How horrible!' I should have touched you with my elbow, which you have a right to dislike, I should have filched your clasps of the hand! There would have existed in your house a division of respect between venerable white locks and tainted white locks; at your most intimate hours, when all hearts thought themselves open to the very bottom to all the rest, when we four were together, your grandfather, you two and myself, a stranger would have been present! I should have been side by side with you in your existence, having for my only care not to disarrange the cover of my dreadful pit. Thus, I, a dead man, should have thrust myself upon you who are living beings. I should have condemned her to myself forever. You and Cosette and I would have had all three of our heads in the green cap! Does it not make you shudder? I am only the most crushed of men; I should have been the most monstrous of men. And I should have committed that crime every day! And I should have had that face of night upon my visage every day! Every day! And I should have communicated to you a share in my taint every day! Every day! To you, my dearly beloved, my children, to you, my innocent creatures! Is it nothing to hold one's peace? Is it a simple matter to keep silence? No, it is not simple. There is a silence which lies. And my lie, and my fraud and my indignity, and my cowardice and my treason and my crime, I should have drained drop by drop, I should have spit it out, then swallowed it again, I should have finished at midnight and have begun again at midday, and my `good morning' would have lied, and my `good night' would have lied, and I should have slept on it, I should have eaten it, with my bread, and I should have looked Cosette in the face, and I should have responded to the smile of the angel by the smile of the damned soul, and I should have been an abominable villain! Why should I do it? in order to be happy. In order to be happy. Have I the right to be happy? I stand outside of life, Sir."
Jean Valjean paused. Marius listened. Such chains of ideas and of anguishes cannot be interrupted. Jean Valjean lowered his voice once more, but it was no longer a dull voice--it was a sinister voice.
"You ask why I speak? I am neither denounced, nor pursued, nor tracked, you say. Yes! I am denounced! yes! I am tracked! By whom? By myself. It is I who bar the passage to myself, and I drag myself, and I push myself, and I arrest myself, and I execute myself, and when one holds oneself, one is firmly held."
And, seizing a handful of his own coat by the nape of the neck and extending it towards Marius:
"Do you see that fist?" he continued. "Don't you think that it holds that collar in such a wise as not to release it? Well! Conscience is another grasp! If one desires to be happy, sir, one must never understand duty; for, as soon as one has comprehended it, it is implacable. One would say that it punished you for comprehending it; but no, it rewards you; for it places you in a hell, where you feel God beside you. One has no sooner lacerated his own entrails than he is at peace with himself."
And, with a poignant accent, he added:
"Monsieur Pontmercy, this is not common sense, I am an honest man. It is by degrading myself in your eyes that I elevate myself in my own. This has happened to me once before, but it was less painful then; it was a mere nothing. Yes, an honest man. I should not be so if, through my fault, you had continued to esteem me; now that you despise me, I am so. I have that fatality hanging over me that, not being able to ever have anything but stolen consideration, that consideration humiliates me, and crushes me inwardly, and, in order that I may respect myself, it is necessary that I should be despised. Then I straighten up again. I am a galley-slave who obeys his conscience. I know well that that is most improbable. But what would you have me do about it? It is the fact. I have entered into engagements with myself; I keep them. There are encounters which bind us, there are chances which involve us in duties. You see, Monsieur Pontmercy, various things have happened to me in the course of my life."
Again Jean Valjean paused, swallowing his saliva with an effort, as though his words had a bitter after-taste, and then he went on:
"When one has such a horror hanging over one, one has not the right to make others share it without their knowledge, one has not the right to make them slip over one's own precipice without their perceiving it, one has not the right to let one's red blouse drag upon them, one has no right to slyly encumber with one's misery the happiness of others. It is hideous to approach those who are healthy, and to touch them in the dark with one's ulcer. In spite of the fact that Fauchelevent lent me his name, I have no right to use it; he could give it to me, but I could not take it. A name is an _I_. You see, sir, that I have thought somewhat, I have read a little, although I am a peasant; and you see that I express myself properly. I understand things. I have procured myself an education. Well, yes, to abstract a name and to place oneself under it is dishonest. Letters of the alphabet can be filched, like a purse or a watch. To be a false signature in flesh and blood, to be a living false key, to enter the house of honest people by picking their lock, never more to look straightforward, to forever eye askance, to be infamous within the _I_, no! No! No! No! No! It is better to suffer, to bleed, to weep, to tear one's skin from the flesh with one's nails, to pass nights writhing in anguish, to devour oneself body and soul. That is why I have just told you all this. Wantonly, as you say."
He drew a painful breath, and hurled this final word:
"In days gone by, I stole a loaf of bread in order to live; to-day, in order to live, I will not steal a name."
"To live!" interrupted Marius. "You do not need that name in order to live?"
"Ah! I understand the matter," said Jean Valjean, raising and lowering his head several times in succession.
A silence ensued. Both held their peace, each plunged in a gulf of thoughts. Marius was sitting near a table and resting the corner of his mouth on one of his fingers, which was folded back. Jean Valjean was pacing to and fro. He paused before a mirror, and remained motionless. Then, as though replying to some inward course of reasoning, he said, as he gazed at the mirror, which he did not see:
"While, at present, I am relieved."
He took up his march again, and walked to the other end of the drawing-room. At the moment when he turned round, he perceived that Marius was watching his walk. Then he said, with an inexpressible intonation:
"I drag my leg a little. Now you understand why!"
Then he turned fully round towards Marius:
"And now, sir, imagine this:I have said nothing, I have remained Monsieur Fauchelevent, I have taken my place in your house, I am one of you, I am in my chamber, I come to breakfast in the morning in slippers, in the evening all three of us go to the play, I accompany Madame Pontmercy to the Tuileries, and to the Place Royale, we are together, you think me your equal; one fine day you are there, and I am there, we are conversing, we are laughing; all at once, you hear a voice shouting this name: Jean Valjean!' and behold, that terrible hand, the police, darts from the darkness, and abruptly tears off my mask!"
Again he paused; Marius had sprung to his feet with a shudder. Jean Valjean resumed:
"What do you say to that?"
Marius' silence answered for him.
Jean Valjean continued:
"You see that I am right in not holding my peace. Be happy, be in heaven, be the angel of an angel, exist in the sun, be content therewith, and do not trouble yourself about the means which a poor damned wretch takes to open his breast and force his duty to come forth; you have before you, sir, a wretched man."
Marius slowly crossed the room, and, when he was quite close to Jean Valjean, he offered the latter his hand.
But Marius was obliged to step up and take that hand which was not offered, Jean Valjean let him have his own way, and it seemed to Marius that he pressed a hand of marble.
"My grandfather has friends," said Marius; "I will procure your pardon."
"It is useless," replied Jean Valjean. "I am believed to be dead, and that suffices. The dead are not subjected to surveillance. They are supposed to rot in peace. Death is the same thing as pardon."
And, disengaging the hand which Marius held, he added, with a sort of inexorable dignity:
"Moreover, the friend to whom I have recourse is the doing of my duty; and I need but one pardon, that of my conscience."
At that moment, a door at the other end of the drawing-room opened gently half way, and in the opening Cosette's head appeared. They saw only her sweet face, her hair was in charming disorder, her eyelids were still swollen with sleep. She made the movement of a bird, which thrusts its head out of its nest, glanced first at her husband, then at Jean Valjean, and cried to them with a smile, so that they seemed to behold a smile at the heart of a rose:
"I will wager that you are talking politics. How stupid that is, instead of being with me!"
Jean Valjean shuddered.
"Cosette! . . ." stammered Marius.
And he paused. One would have said that they were two criminals.
Cosette, who was radiant, continued to gaze at both of them. There was something in her eyes like gleams of paradise.
"I have caught you in the very act," said Cosette. "Just now, I heard my father Fauchelevent through the door saying: `Conscience . . . doing my duty . . .' That is politics, indeed it is. I will not have it. People should not talk politics the very next day. It is not right."
"You are mistaken. Cosette," said Marius,"we are talking business. We are discussing the best investment of your six hundred thousand francs . . ."
"That is not it at all " interrupted Cosette. "I am coming. Does any body want me here?"
And, passing resolutely through the door, she entered the drawing-room.She was dressed in a voluminous white dressing-gown, with a thousand folds and large sleeves which, starting from the neck, fell to her feet. In the golden heavens of some ancient gothic pictures, there are these charming sacks fit to clothe the angels.
She contemplated herself from head to foot in a long mirror, then exclaimed, in an outburst of ineffable ecstasy:
"There was once a King and a Queen. Oh! How happy I am!"
That said, she made a curtsey to Marius and to Jean Valjean.
"There," said she, "I am going to install myself near you in an easy-chair, we breakfast in half an hour, you shall say anything you like, I know well that men must talk, and I will be very good."
Marius took her by the arm and said lovingly to her:
"We are talking business."
"By the way," said Cosette, "I have opened my window, a flock of pierrots has arrived in the garden,--Birds, not maskers. To-day is Ash-Wednesday; but not for the birds."
"I tell you that we are talking business, go, my little Cosette, leave us alone for a moment. We are talking figures. That will bore you."
"You have a charming cravat on this morning, Marius. You are very dandified, monseigneur. No, it will not bore me."
"I assure you that it will bore you."
"No. Since it is you. I shall not understand you, but I shall listen to you. When one hears the voices of those whom one loves, one does not need to understand the words that they utter. That we should be here together--that is all that I desire. I shall remain with you, bah!"
"You are my beloved Cosette! Impossible."
"Impossible!"
"Yes."
"Very good," said Cosette. "I was going to tell you some news. I could have told you that your grandfather is still asleep, that your aunt is at mass, that the chimney in my father Fauchelevent's room smokes, that Nicolette has sent for the chimney-sweep, that Toussaint and Nicolette have already quarrelled, that Nicolette makes sport of Toussaint's stammer. Well, you shall know nothing. Ah! It is impossible? You shall see, gentlemen, that I, in my turn, can say: It is impossible. Then who will be caught? I beseech you, my little Marius, let me stay here with you two."
"I swear to you, that it is indispensable that we should be alone."
"Well, am I anybody?"
Jean Valjean had not uttered a single word. Cosette turned to him:
"In the first place, father, I want you to come and embrace me. What do you mean by not saying anything instead of taking my part? Who gave me such a father as that? You must perceive that my family life is very unhappy. My husband beats me. Come, embrace me instantly."
Jean Valjean approached.
Cosette turned toward Marius.
"As for you, I shall make a face at you."
Then she presented her brow to Jean Valjean.
Jean Valjean advanced a step toward her.
Cosette recoiled.
"Father, you are pale. Does your arm hurt you?"
"It is well," said Jean Valjean.
"Did you sleep badly?"
"No."
"Are you sad?"
"No."
"Embrace me if you are well, if you sleep well, if you are content, I will not scold you."
And again she offered him her brow.
Jean Valjean dropped a kiss upon that brow whereon rested a celestial gleam.
"Smile."
Jean Valjean obeyed. It was the smile of a spectre.
"Now, defend me against my husband."
"Cosette! . . ." ejaculated Marius.
"Get angry, father. Say that I must stay. You can certainly talk before me. So you think me very silly. What you say is astonishing! Business, placing money in a bank a great matter truly. Men make mysteries out of nothing. I am very pretty this morning. Look at me, Marius."
And with an adorable shrug of the shoulders, and an indescribably exquisite pout, she glanced at Marius.
"I love you!" said Marius.
"I adore you!" said Cosette.
And they fell irresistibly into each other's arms.
"Now," said Cosette, adjusting a fold of her dressing-gown, with a triumphant little grimace, "I shall stay."
"No, not that," said Marius, in a supplicating tone. "We have to finish something."
"Still no?"
Marius assumed a grave tone:
"I assure you, Cosette, that it is impossible."
"Ah! you put on your man's voice, sir. That is well, I go. You, father, have not upheld me. Monsieur my father, monsieur my husband, you are tyrants. I shall go and tell grandpapa. If you think that I am going to return and talk platitudes to you, you are mistaken. I am proud. I shall wait for you now. You shall see, that it is you who are going to be bored without me. I am going, it is well."
And she left the room.
Two seconds later, the door opened once more, her fresh and rosy head was again thrust between the two leaves, and she cried to them:
"I am very angry indeed."
The door closed again, and the shadows descended once more.
It was as though a ray of sunlight should have suddenly traversed the night, without itself being conscious of it.
Marius made sure that the door was securely closed.
"Poor Cosette!" he murmured, "when she finds out . . ."
At that word Jean Valjean trembled in every limb. He fixed on Marius a bewildered eye.
"Cosette! oh yes, it is true, you are going to tell Cosette about this. That is right. Stay, I had not thought of that. One has the strength for one thing, but not for another. Sir, I conjure you, I entreat now, sir, give me your most sacred word of honor, that you will not tell her. Is it not enough that you should know it? I have been able to say it myself without being forced to it, I could have told it to the universe, to the whole world,--it was all one to me. But she, she does not know what it is, it would terrify her. What, a convict! we should be obliged to explain matters to her, to say to her: `He is a man who has been in the galleys.' She saw the chain-gang pass by one day. Oh! My God!" . . . He dropped into an arm-chair and hid his face in his hands.
His grief was not audible, but from the quivering of his shoulders it was evident that he was weeping. Silent tears, terrible tears.
There is something of suffocation in the sob. He was seized with a sort of convulsion, he threw himself against the back of the chair as though to gain breath, letting his arms fall, and allowing Marius to see his face inundated with tears, and Marius heard him murmur, so low that his voice seemed to issue from fathomless depths:
"Oh! would that I could die!"
"Be at your ease," said Marius, "I will keep your secret for myself alone." x And, less touched, perhaps, than he ought to have been, but forced, for the last hour, to familiarize himself with something as unexpected as it was dreadful, gradually beholding the convict superposed before his very eyes, upon M. Fauchelevent, overcome, little by little, by that lugubrious reality, and led, by the natural inclination of the situation, to recognize the space which had just been placed between that man and himself, Marius added:
"It is impossible that I should not speak a word to you with regard to the deposit which you have so faithfully and honestly remitted. That is an act of probity. It is just that some recompense should be bestowed on you. 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 c omposure.
"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.
①二世纪时托勒密（Ptolémée）创立地心说，每个行星为一重天，最高的行星为七重天，八层为恒星天，此说后被哥白尼（Copernic）推翻。
婚礼的第二天是静悄悄的，大家尊重幸福的人，让他们单独在一起，也让他们稍迟一点起身。来访和祝贺的喧闹声稍后一点才会开始。二月十七日，中午稍过，当巴斯克臂下夹着抹布和鸡毛掸，正忙着打扫“他的候客室”时，他听见轻轻的敲门声。没有按门铃，在当天这样做是知趣的。巴斯克打开门，见到割风先生。他把他引进客厅，那里东西都零乱地堆放着，就象是咋晚快乐节日后的战场。
“天哪，先生，”巴斯克注意到了，“我们都起迟了。”
“你的主人起床了没有？”冉阿让问。
“先生的手好了没有？”巴斯克回答。
“好些了，你的主人起床了吗？”
“哪一位？老的还是新的？”
“彭眉胥先生。”
“男爵先生？”巴斯克站直了身子说。
身为男爵主要是在他仆人的眼里，有些东西是属于他们的；哲学家称他们为沾头衔之光者，这一点使他们得意。马吕斯，我们顺便提一下，是共和国的战士，他已证实了这一点，现在则违反他的心愿成了男爵。家里曾为这个头衔发生过一次小小的革命；而现在却是吉诺曼先生坚持这点了，马吕斯倒满不在乎。不过彭眉胥上校曾留过话：“吾儿应承袭我的勋位。”马吕斯服从了。还有珂赛特，她已开始成为主妇，也很乐意做男爵夫人。
“男爵先生？”巴斯克又说，“我去看看。我去告诉他割风先生来了。”
“不，不要告诉他是我，告诉他有人要求和他个别谈话，不用说出姓名。”
“啊！”巴斯克说。
“我要使他感到出其不意。”
巴斯克又“啊”了一下。第二个“啊”是他对第一个“啊”的解释。
于是他走了出去。
冉阿让独自留在客厅里。
这个客厅，我们刚才说过，还是乱七八糟的。仔细去听时好象还能隐约听到婚礼的喧哗声。地板上有各种各样的从花环和头上掉下来的花朵。燃烧到头的蜡烛在水晶吊灯上增添了蜡制的钟乳石。没有一件木器摆在原来的地方。在几个角落里，三四把靠近的椅子围成一圈，好象有人还在继续谈天。总的情况看起来还是欢乐的。已过去了的节日，还留下了某种美感。这些都曾是快乐的。在拖乱了的椅子上，在开始枯萎的花朵中，在熄了的灯光下，大家曾想到过欢乐。继吊灯的光辉之后太阳兴高采烈地进入客厅。
几分钟过去了。冉阿让没有动，仍呆在巴斯克离去时的地方。他脸色惨白。他的眼睛因失眠陷进眼眶，几乎看不见了。他的黑色服装现出穿了过夜的皱纹，手肘处沾着呢子和垫单磨擦后起的白色绒毛。冉阿让望着脚边地板上太阳画出来的窗框。
门口发出了声音，他便抬头望。
马吕斯进来了，高昂着头，嘴上带着笑，脸上有着无法形容的光彩，满面春风，目光里充满了胜利的喜悦，原来他也没有睡觉。
“是您呀，父亲！”他看见冉阿让时这样叫道，“这个傻瓜巴斯克一副神秘的样子！您来得太早了，刚十二点半，珂赛特还在睡觉呢！”
马吕斯称割风先生“父亲”的意思是“无比的幸福”。我们知道，在他们之间一直存在着隔阂、冷淡和拘束，存在着要打碎的或融化的冰块。马吕斯陶醉的程度已使隔阂消失，冰雪融化，使他和珂赛特一样把割风先生当作父亲来看待了。
他继续说着，心中冒出说不完的话，这正是圣洁的极度欢乐所应有的表现：
“我真高兴见到您！您不知道昨天我们因您不在而感到多么遗憾！早安，父亲。您的手怎么样了？好些了，是吗？”
于是很满意他对自己作出的好的回答，他又继续说：
“我们俩一直在谈您。珂赛特非常爱您！您不要忘记这里有您的寝室。我们不再需要武人街了，我们真不再需要了。您当初怎么会去住在那样一条街上？它是有病的，愁眉苦脸的，丑陋不堪，一头还有一道栅栏，那里又冷，简直进不去。您来住在这里，今天就来。否则珂赛特要找您算账。我预先通知您，她是准备牵着我们大家的鼻子跟她走的。您看见您的寝室了，它紧挨着我们的房间，窗子向着花园；已经叫人把门上的锁修好了，床也铺好了，房间都整理好了，您只要来住就行了。珂赛特在您的床前放了一张乌德勒支丝绒的老圈手椅，她向它说：‘你伸开两臂迎接他。’每年春天，在您窗前刺槐的花丛里会飞来一只黄莺。两个月以后您就能见到它了。它的巢在您的左边，而我们的窝则在您的右边。晚上它来歌唱，白天有珂赛特的语声。您的房间朝着正南方向。珂赛特会把您的书放在那里，您的《库克将军旅行记》，还有另一本旺古费写的旅行记，以及所有您的东西。我想，还有一只您所珍视的小提箱，我已给它选定了一个体面的角落。您得到了我外祖父的赞赏，您和他谈得来。我们将一起共同生活。您会打惠斯特纸牌吗？您会打惠斯特就更使外祖父喜出望外了。我到法院去的日子，您就带珂赛特去散步，让她搀着您的手臂，您知道，就和从前在卢森堡公园时一样。我们完全决定了要过得十分幸福。而您也来分享我们的幸福，听见吗？父亲？啊，您今天和我们一起进早餐吧？”
“先生，”冉阿让说，“我有一件事要告诉您。我过去是一个苦役犯。”
耳朵听到的尖音有一个对思想和耳朵都可以超过的限度。这几个字“我过去是一个苦役犯”，从冉阿让口中出来，进入马吕斯的耳中，是超出了听到的可能。马吕斯听不见。他觉得有人向他说了话；但他不知道说了些什么，他呆住了。
此刻他才发现，和他说话的人神情骇人，他激动的心情使他直到目前才发现这可怕的惨白面色。
冉阿让解去吊着右手的黑领带，去掉包手的布，把大拇指露出来给马吕斯看。
“我手上什么伤也没有。”他说。
马吕斯看了看大拇指。
“我什么也不曾有过。”冉阿让又说。
手指上的确一点伤痕也没有。
冉阿让继续说：
“你们的婚礼我不到比较恰当，我尽量做到不在场，我假装受了伤，为了避免作假，避免在婚书上加上无效的东西，为了避免签字。”
马吕斯结结巴巴地说：“这是什么意思？”
“意思是说，”冉阿让回答，“我曾被罚，干过苦役。”
“您真使我发疯！”马吕斯恐怖地喊起来。
“彭眉胥先生，”冉阿让说，“我曾在苦役场呆过十九年，因为偷盗。后来我被判处无期徒刑，为了偷盗，也为了重犯。目前，我是一个违反放逐令的人。”
马吕斯想逃避事实，否认这件事，拒绝明显的实情，但都无济于事，结果他被迫屈服。他开始懂了，但他又懂得过了分，在这种情况下总是这样的。他心头感到丑恶的一闪现；一个使他颤抖的念头，在他的脑中掠过。他隐约看到他未来的命运是丑恶的。
“把一切都说出来，全说出来！”他叫着，“您是珂赛特的父亲！”
于是他向后退了两步，表现出无法形容的厌恶。
冉阿让抬起头，态度如此尊严，似乎高大得顶到了天花板。
“您必须相信这一点，先生，虽然我们这种人的誓言，法律是不承认的……”
这时他静默了一下，于是他用一种至高无上而又阴沉的权威口气慢慢地说下去，吐清每一个字，重重地发出每一个音节：
“……您要相信我。珂赛特的父亲，我！在上帝面前发誓，不是的，彭眉胥先生，我是法维洛勒地方的农民。我靠修树枝维持生活。我的名字不是割风，我叫冉阿让。我与珂赛特毫无关系。您放心吧。”
马吕斯含糊地说：
“谁能向我证明？……”
“我，既然我这样说。”
马吕斯望着这个人，他神情沉痛而平静，如此平静的人不可能撒谎。冰冷的东西是诚挚的。在这墓穴般的寒冷中使人感到有着真实的东西。
“我相信您。”马吕斯说。
冉阿让点一下头好象表示知道了，又继续说：
“我是珂赛特的什么人？一个过路人。十年前，我不知道她的存在。我疼她，这是事实。自己老了，看着一个孩子从小长大，是会爱这个孩子的。一个人老了，觉得自己是所有孩子的祖父。我认为，您能这样去想，我还有一颗类似心一样的东西。她是没有父母的孤儿，她需要我。这就是为什么我爱她的原因。孩子是如此软弱，任何一个人，即使象我这样的人，也会做他们的保护人。我对珂赛特尽到了保护人的责任。我并不认为这一点小事当真可以称作善事；但如果是善事，那就算我做了吧。请您记下这一件可以减罪的事。今天珂赛特离开了我的生活；我们开始分道。从今以后我和她毫无关系了。她是彭眉胥夫人。她的靠山已换了人。这一替换对她有利。一切如意。至于那六十万法郎，您不向我提这件事，我比您抢先想到，那是一笔托我保管的钱。那笔款子为什么会在我手中？这有什么关系？我归还这笔款子。别人不能对我有更多的要求。我交出这笔钱并且说出我的真姓名。这是我的事，我本人要您知道我是什么人。”
于是冉阿让正视着马吕斯。
马吕斯此刻的感觉是心乱如麻，茫无头绪。命运里有些狂风会引起心里这样汹涌澎湃的波涛。
我们大家都经历过这种内心极其混乱的时刻，我们说的是头脑里首先想到的话，这些话不一定是真的应该说的。有些突然泄露的事使人承受不了，它好象毒酒，使人昏迷。马吕斯被新出现的情况惊得不知所措，他在说话时甚至象在责怪这人暴露了真情。
“您究竟为什么要向我说这些话呢？”他叫喊着，“什么原因在强迫您说？您尽可以自己保留这个秘密。您既没有被告发，也没有被跟踪，也没有被追捕？您乐意来泄露这事总有个理由，说完它，还有其他的事。根据什么理由您要承认这件事？
为了什么原因？”
“为了什么原因？”冉阿让回答的声音如此低沉而微弱，好象在自言自语而不是在向马吕斯说话。“不错，为了什么原因，这个苦役犯要来说：‘我是一个苦役犯？’是呀！这个原因是很奇怪的，这是为了诚实。您看，最痛苦不过的是有根线牵住了我的心。尤其在人老了的时候，这些线就特别结实，生命四周的一切都可毁掉，而这线却牢不可断。如果我能拔掉这根线，将它拉断，解开或者切除疙瘩，远远地走开，我就可以得救，只要离开就行了；在布洛亚街就有公共马车；你们幸福了，我走了。我也曾设法把线拉断，我抽着，但它却牢不可断，我连心都快拔出来了。于是我说：‘我只有不离开这里才能活下去，我必须待在这里。’真就是这样，您有理，我是一个蠢人，为什么不简简单单地待下来？您在您的家里给了我一间寝室，彭眉胥夫人很爱我，她向这只沙发说：‘伸开两臂迎接他。’您的外祖父巴不得我来陪伴他，他和我合得来，我们大家住在一起，同桌吃饭，珂赛特挽着我的手臂……彭眉胥夫人，请原谅，我叫惯了，我们在一个屋顶下，同桌吃饭，共用一炉火，冬天我们围炉取暖，夏天仍去散步，这些都是何等愉快，何等幸福，这些就是一切。我们同住象一家人一样。一家人！”
提到这两个字，冉阿让变得怕和人交往的样子，他叉起双臂，眼睛盯着脚下的地板，好象要挖一个地洞，他的声音忽然响亮起来了：
“一家人！不可能，我没有家，我，我不是你们家里的人。我不属于人类的家庭。在家庭的生活中我是多余的，世上有的是家，但不是我的。我是不幸的人，流离失所的人。我是否有过一个父亲或一个母亲？我几乎怀疑这一点。我把这孩子嫁出去的那天，一切就结束了，我看到她幸福并和她心爱的人在一起，这里有一个慈祥的老人，一对天使共同生活，幸福美满，一切称心如意了，于是我对自己说：‘你，可不要进去。’我可以说谎，不错，来瞒着你们所有的人，仍旧当割风先生。只要为了她，我就能说谎；但现在是为了我自己，我不该这样做。不错，我只要不说，一切就会照旧，你问我是什么理由迫使我说出来？一个怪理由，就是我的良心。不泄露其实很容易。我曾整夜这样来说服我自己；您让我说出秘密，而我来向您说的事是如此不寻常，您确实有权让我说；真的，我曾整夜给自己找理由，我也给自己找到了很充足的理由，是的，我已尽我所能。但有两件事我没有做到：我既没有把牵住我、钉住我、封住我的心的线割断，又没有，当我一人独处时，让那轻声向我说话的人住口。因此我今早来向您承认一切。一切，或者几乎就是一切。还有一些是不相干的，只涉及我个人的，我就保留下来了。主要的您已知道。因此我把我的秘密交给您，在您面前我说出我的秘密，这并不是一个容易下的决心。我斗争了一整夜，啊！您以为我没有向自己解释这并不是商马第事件，隐瞒我的姓名无损于人，并且割风这个名字是割风为了报恩而亲自送给我的，我完全可以保留它，我在您给我的房中可以过得愉快，我不会碍事，我将待在我的角落里，您有珂赛特，我也感到自己和她同住在一所房子里。每个人都有自己恰如其分的一份幸福，继续做割风先生，这样一切问题都解决了。不错，除了我的良心，到处使我感到快乐，但我心灵深处仍是黑暗的。这样的幸福是不够的，要自己感到满意才行。我这样仍旧当割风先生，我的真面目就隐藏起来了，而在你们心花怒放的时候，我心里藏着一件暧昧的事，在你们的光明磊落中，我还有着我的黑暗；这样，不预先警告，我就径自把徒刑监狱引进了你们的家，我和你们同桌坐着，心中暗自思量，如果你们知道我是谁，一定要把我赶出大门，我让仆从侍候着我，如果他们知道了，一定会叫：‘多么可怕呀！’我把手肘碰着您，而您是有权拒绝的，我可以骗到和你们握手！在你们家里，可敬的白发老人和可耻的白发老人将分享你们的敬重；在你们最亲切的时候，当人人都以为相互都已把心完全敞开，当我们四个人一起的时候，在您的外祖父、你们俩和我之中，就有一个是陌生人！我将和你们在一起共同生活，同时一心想的是不要把我那可怕的井盖揭开。这样我会把我这个死人强加给你们这些活人，我将终身被判过这种生活。您、珂赛特和我，我们三个人将同戴一顶绿帽子！你难道不发抖吗？我只是众人里一个被压得最低的人，因而也就是一个最凶狠的人。而这罪行，我将每日重犯！这一欺骗，我则每日重复！这个黑暗的面具，我每天都要戴着！我的耻辱，每天都要使你们担负一部分！每天！使你们，我亲爱的，我的孩子，我的纯洁的人来负担！隐瞒不算一回事？缄默是容易办到的吗？不，这并不简单。有的缄默等于撒谎。我的谎言，我的假冒的行为，我的不适当的地位，我的无耻，我的背叛，我的罪恶，我将一滴一滴地吞下肚去，吐了又吞，到半夜吞完，中午又重新开始，我说的早安是种欺骗，我说的晚安也会是种欺骗，我将睡在这上面，和着面包吞下去，我将面对珂赛特，我将用囚犯的微笑回答天使的微笑，那我将会是一个万恶的骗子！为了什么目的？为了得到幸福。为了得到幸福，为自己！难道我有权利得到幸福？我是处于生活之外的人啊，先生。”
冉阿让停了下来。马吕斯听着。象这样连贯的思想和悲痛是不能中断的。冉阿让又重新放低语调，但这已不是低沉的声音，而是死气沉沉的声音：
“您问我为什么要说出来？您说我既没有被告发，也没有被跟踪，也没有被追捕。是的，我是被告发了！是的！被跟踪和被追捕了！被谁？被我自己。是我挡住我自己的去路，我自己拖着自己，我自己推着，我自己逮捕自己，我自己执行，当一个人自己捉住自己时，那就是真捉住了。”
于是他一把抓住自己的衣服朝马吕斯靠去：
“您看这个拳头，”他继续说，“您不觉得它揪住这领子是不打算放掉的？好吧！良心完全是另一种拳头呀！如果要做幸福的人，先生，那就永远不应懂得天职，因为，一旦懂得了，它就是铁面无私的。似乎它因为你懂了而惩罚你；不对，它为此而酬报；因为它把你放进一个地狱里去，在那里你感到上帝就在你身旁。剖腹开膛的惩罚刚要结束，自己和自己之间就相安无事了。”
于是他用一种痛心而强调的语气继续说：
“彭眉胥先生，这不合乎常情，我是一个诚实的人。我在您眼里贬低自己，才能在自己眼里抬高自己。我已碰到过一次这样的事，但没有这样沉痛；那不算什么。是的，一个诚实人。如果因我的过错，您还继续尊敬我，那我就不是诚实的人；现在您鄙视我，我才是诚实的。我的命运注定了只能得到骗来的尊重，这种尊重使我内心自卑，并徒增内疚，因此要我自尊，就得受别人的蔑视。这样我才能重新站起来。我是一个不违反良心的苦役犯。我知道这很难使人相信。但我又有什么办法？就是这样。我自己向自己许下诺言；我履行诺言。一些相遇把我们拴住，一些偶然事件使我们负起责任。您看，彭眉胥先生，我一生中遇到的事真是不少啊。”
冉阿让又停顿了一下，用力咽下口水，好象他的话里有一种苦的回味，他又继续说下去：
“当一个人有这样骇人的事在身上时，就无权去瞒人而使别人来共同分担，无权把瘟疫传给别人，无权使别人在一无所知的情况下从他的绝壁往下滑，无权使自己的红帽子①去拖累别人，无权暗中使自己的苦难成为别人幸福的拖累。走近健康的人，暗中把自己看不见的痈疽去碰触别人，这是多么的卑鄙。割风尽管把姓名借给我，我可无权使用；他能给我，我可不能占有。一个名字，是代表本人的。您看，先生，我动了一下脑筋，我读过一点书，虽然我是一个农民；大道理我还能懂得。您看我的言辞还算得体。我自己教育过自己。是啊！诈取一个名字，据为己有，这是不诚实的。字母也象钱包或怀表一样可以被盗。签一个活着的假名，做一个活的假钥匙，撬开锁进入诚实人的家，永不能昂首正视，永远得斜着眼偷看，自己心里真感到耻辱，不行！不行！不行！不行！我宁愿受苦，流血，痛哭，自己用指甲剥下肉上的皮，整夜在痛苦中扭捩打滚，折磨心胸。这就是我来向您讲明这一切的原因，正象您所说的，乐意这样做。”
①死囚戴红帽子。
他困难地喘着气，并且吐出了最后一句话：
“过去，为了活命，我偷了一块面包；今天，为了活命，我不盗窃名字。”
“为了活命！”马吕斯打断他的话，“您不需要这个名字了？
为了活命。”
“啊！我懂得自己的意思了。”冉阿让缓慢地连续几次抬起了头又低了下去。
一阵沉默。两人都默默无言，各人都沉浸在思想深处。马吕斯坐在桌旁，屈着一指托住嘴角，冉阿让来回踱着，他停在一面镜子前不动，于是，好象在回答心里的推理，他望着镜子但没有看见自己说道：
“只是现在我才如释重负！”
他又开始走，走到客厅的另一头，他回头时发现马吕斯在注视着他走路，于是他用一种无法形容的语气对他说：
“我有点拖着步子走路。您现在知道是什么原因了。”
然后他完全转向马吕斯：
“现在，先生，您请想象一下，我仍是割风先生，我在您家里待下去，我是您家里的人，我在我的寝室里，早晨我穿着拖鞋来进早餐，晚上我们三个人去看戏，我陪彭眉胥夫人到杜伊勒里宫和王宫广场去散步，我们在一起，你们以为我是你们一样的人；有那么一天，我在这儿，你们也在，大家谈天说笑，忽然，你们听见一个声音，叫着这个名字：‘冉阿让！’于是警察这只可怕的手从黑暗中伸出来，突然把我的假面具扯掉了！”
他又沉默了；马吕斯战栗着站了起来，冉阿让又说：
“您觉得怎么样？”
马吕斯用沉默作回答。
冉阿让接着说：
“您看，我没有保持沉默是对的。好好地继续过你们幸福的生活吧！好象在天堂里一样，做一个天使的天使，生活在灿烂的阳光中，请对此感到满足，不要去管一个可怜的受苦人是以什么方式向您开诚布公和尽他的责任的。在您面前是一个悲惨的人，先生。”
马吕斯慢慢地在客厅中穿过，当他走近冉阿让时，向他伸出手来。
但马吕斯是不得不去握那只不向他伸出的手的，冉阿让听凭他握，马吕斯觉得好象握着一只大理石的手。
“我的外祖父有些朋友，”马吕斯说，“我将设法使您获得赦免。”
“无济于事，”冉阿让回答，“别人认为我已死去。这已足够了。死了的人不会再被监视。他们被认为是在静静地腐烂着。
死了，等于是赦免了。”
于是，他把马吕斯握着的手收回来，用一种严酷的自尊语气补充了一句：
“此外，尽我的天职，这就是我要向它求救的那个朋友；我只需要一种赦免，那就是我自己良心的赦免。”
这时，在客厅的那一头，门慢慢地开了一半，在半开的门里露出了珂赛特的头。人们只看到她可爱的面容，头发蓬松，很好看，眼皮还带着睡意。她做了一个小鸟把头伸出鸟巢的动作，先看看她的丈夫，再看看冉阿让，她笑着向他们大声说着，好象是玫瑰花心里的一个微笑：
“我打赌你们在谈政治！真傻，不和我在一起！”
冉阿让打了一个寒噤。
“珂赛特！……”马吕斯吞吞吐吐。接着他停住了。在别人看来好象两个有罪的人。
珂赛特，兴高采烈地继续来回地看着他们两人。她的眼里象是闪耀着天堂里的欢乐。
“我当场抓住你们了，”珂赛特说，“我刚从门外听见我父亲割风说：‘良心……尽他的天职……’这是政治呀，这些。我不爱听。不该第二天就谈政治，这是不公正的。”
“你弄错了，珂赛特，”马吕斯说，“我们在谈生意。我们在谈你的六十万法郎存放在什么地方最好……”
“还有别的，”珂赛特打断他的话，“我来了，你们这里要我来吗？”
她干脆走进门，到了客厅里。她穿着一件白色宽袖百褶晨衣，从颈部一直下垂到脚跟。在那种天上金光闪耀的古老的哥特式油画中，有着这种可以放进一个天使的美丽的宽大衣裳。
她在一面大穿衣镜前从头至脚地注视自己，然后突然用无法形容的狂喜声调大声说：
“从前有一个国王和一个王后。啊！我太高兴了！”
说完这句话，她向马吕斯和冉阿让行了一个屈膝礼。
“就是这样，”她说，“我来坐在你们身旁的沙发椅上，再过半小时就进早餐了，你们尽管谈你们的，我知道男人们是有话要说的，我会乖乖地待着。”
马吕斯挽着她的手臂亲热地向她说：
“我们在谈生意。”
“想起了一件事，”珂赛特回答，“我刚才把窗子打开了，有很多小丑到花园里来了。都是些小鸟，不戴面具。今天是斋期开始，可是小鸟不吃斋呀！”
“我告诉你我们在谈生意，去吧，我亲爱的珂赛特，让我们再谈一下，我们在谈数字，你听了会厌烦的。”
“你今天打了一个漂亮的领结，马吕斯。你很爱俏，大人，不，我不会厌烦。”
“我肯定你会厌烦的。”
“不会，因为是你们，我听不懂你们谈的话，但我能听着你们说话，听见心爱的人的声音，就不用去了解说的是什么了。只要能在一起，这就是我的要求。无论如何，我要和你们待在这儿。”
“你是我亲爱的珂赛特！但这件事不行。”
“不行！”
“对。”
“好吧，”珂赛特又说，“我本来有新闻要告诉你们。我本想告诉你们外祖父还在睡觉，姨妈上教堂去了，我父亲割风房间里的烟囱冒着烟，还有妮珂莱特找来了通烟囱的人，还有杜桑和妮珂莱特已吵了一架，妮珂莱特讥笑杜桑是结巴。好吧，你们什么也不知道。啊！这不行？我也一样，轮到我了，你看吧，先生，我也说：‘不行。’看看哪一个上了当？我求求你，我亲爱的马吕斯，让我和你俩在一起吧！”
“我向你发誓，我们必须单独谈话。”
“那么请