Summary

All circumstances have their instinctual. Ancient and unceasing Mother Nature cautioned Jean Valjean in
a dim way of the nearness of Marius. Jean Valjean shivered to the exceptionally foot of his soul. Jean
Valjean saw nothing, knew nothing, and however he checked with adamant consideration, the obscurity
in which he strolled, as in spite of the fact that he felt on one side of him something in handle of
development, and on the other, something which was disintegrating absent. Marius, too cautioned, and,
in understanding with the profound law of God, by that same Mother Nature, did all he may to keep out
of locate of "the father." In any case, it came to pass that Jean Valjean now and then espied him. Marius'
conduct were now not within the slightest normal. He exhibited vague judiciousness and ungainly brave.
He now not came very near to them as once. He situated himself at a separate and imagined to be
perusing; why did he imagine that? Once he had come in his ancient coat, presently he wore his unused
one each day; Jean Valjean was not beyond any doubt that he did not have his hair twisted, his eyes
were exceptionally strange, he wore gloves; in brief, Jean Valjean genially hated this youthful man.
Cosette permitted nothing to be divined. Without knowing fair what was the matter with her she was
persuaded that there was something in it, which it must be concealed. There was a coincidence between
the taste for the can which had as of late come to Cosette, and the propensity of modern dress created
by that stranger which was exceptionally hostile to Jean Valjean. It can be inadvertent, no question,
certainly, but it was a threatening accident. He never opened his mouth to Cosette almost this stranger.
One day, in any case, he may not abstain from so doing, and, with that unclear lose hope which all of a
sudden casts the lead into the profundities of its lose hope, he said to her: "What an awfully punctilious
discuss that youthful man has!".

Cosette, but a year before only an indifferent little girl, would have replied: "Why, no, he is charming."
Ten years later, with the love of Marius in her heart, she would have answered: "A pedant, and
insufferable to the sight! You are right!"-- At the moment in life and the heart which she had then
attained, she contented herself with replying, with supreme calmness: "That young man!"

As though she now beheld him for the first time in her life.

"How stupid I am!" thought Jean Valjean. "She had not noticed him. It is I who have pointed him out to
her."

Oh, simplicity of the old! oh, the depth of children!

It is one of the laws of those fresh years of suffering and trouble, of those vivacious conflicts between a
first love and the first obstacles, that the young girl does not allow herself to be caught in any trap
whatever, and that the young man falls into every one. Jean Valjean had instituted an undeclared war
against Marius, which Marius, with the sublime stupidity of his passion and his age, did not divine. Jean
Valjean laid a host of ambushes for him; he changed his hour, he changed his bench, he forgot his
handkerchief, he came alone to the Luxembourg; Marius dashed headlong into all these snares; and to
all the interrogation marks planted by Jean Valjean in his pathway, he ingenuously answered "yes." But
Cosette remained immured in her apparent unconcern and in her imperturbable tranquillity, so that
Jean Valjean arrived at the following conclusion: "That ninny is madly in love with Cosette, but Cosette
does not even know that he exists."
None the less did he bear in his heart a sad tremor. The diminutive when Cosette would cherish might
strike at any minute. Does not everything start with impassion?

As it were once did Cosette make a botch and caution him. He rose from his situate to leave, after a
remain of three hours, and she said: "What, already?" Jean Valjean had not ceased his trips to the
Luxembourg, as he did not wish to do anything out of the way, and as, over all things, he dreaded to
stimulate Cosette; but amid the hours which were so sweet to the partners, whereas Cosette was
sending her grin to the inebriated Marius, who seen nothing else presently, and who presently saw
nothing in all the world but an worshiped and brilliant confront, Jean Valjean was settling on Marius
blazing and appalling eyes. He, who had at long last come to accept himself unfit of a pernicious feeling,
experienced minutes when Marius was show, in which he thought he was getting to be savage and
fierce once more, and he felt the ancient profundities of his soul, which had once in the past contained
so much fury, opening once more and rising up against that youthful man. It nearly appeared to him that
obscure holes were shaping in his bosom

What! he was there, that animal! What was he there for? He came inching around, noticing out, looking
at, attempting! He came, saying: "Hello! Why not?" He came to lurk around his, Jean Valjean's, life! to
lurk almost his joy, with the reason of seizing it and bearing it absent!

Jean Valjean included: "Yes, that's it! What is he in look of? An experience! What does he need? A
cherish issue! A adore issue! And I? What! I have been to begin with, the foremost wretched of men,
and after that the foremost troubled, and I have navigated sixty a long time of life on my knees, I have
endured everything that man can endure, I have developed ancient without having been youthful, I have
lived without a family, without relatives, without companions, without life, without children, I have
cleared out my blood on each stone, on each bramble, on each mile-post, along each divider, I have
been tender, in spite of the fact that others have been difficult to me, and kind, in spite of the fact that
others have been pernicious, I have gotten to be an genuine man once more, in show disdain toward of
everything, I have apologized of the fiendish that I have done and have pardoned the fiendish that has
been done to me, and at the minute when I get my recomppense, at the minute when it is all over, at
the minute when I am fair touching the objective, at the minute when I have what I crave, it is well, is
sweet, I have paid, I have earned it, all this is often to require flight, all this will disappear, and I should
lose Cosette, and I should lose my life, my delight, my soul, since it has satisfied a awesome booby to
come and relax at the Luxembourg."

Cosette did not complain, she said nothing, she inquired no questions, she did not look for to memorize
his reasons; she had as of now come to the point where she was anxious of being divined, and of
deceiving herself. Jean Valjean had no involvement of these tragedies, the as it were tragedies which are
charming and the as it were ones with which he was not familiar; the result was that he did not get it the
grave noteworthiness of Cosette's silence. He just taken note that she had developed pitiful, and he
developed melancholy. On his side and on hers, naiveté had joined issue. Once he made a trial. He
inquired Cosette:-- "Would you like to come to the Luxembourg?" A beam enlightened Cosette's pale
face. "Yes," said she.

At that point his eyes were filled with a pitiful and exceptional gleam. They went thither. Three months
had passed. Marius now not went there. Marius was not there. On the taking after day, Jean Valjean
inquired Cosette again:-- "Would you like to come to the Luxembourg?" She answered, tragically and
gently:-- "No." Jean Valjean was harmed by this pity, and heart-broken at this gentleness.
What was going on in that intellect which was so youthful and however as of now so invulnerable? What
was on its way there inside? What was taking put in Cosette's soul? In some cases, rather than attending
to bed, Jean Valjean remained situated on his bed, with his head in his hands, and he passed entirety
evenings inquiring himself: "What has Cosette in her intellect?" and in considering of the things that she
may be considering about. Oh! at such minutes, what sad looks did he cast towards that cloister, that
virtuous crest, that house of blessed messengers, that blocked off ice sheet of ethicalness! How he
mulled over, with hopeless bliss, that community cultivate, full of disregarded blooms and cloistered
virgins, where all aromas and all souls mount straight to paradise! How he revered that Eden until the
end of time closed against him, whence he had deliberately and frantically risen! How he lamented his
refusal and his imprudence in having brought Cosette back into the world, destitute legend of give up,
seized and heaved to the soil by his exceptionally self-devself-devotion! How he said to himself, "What
have I done?"

In any case, nothing of all this was noticeable to Cosette. No ill-temper, no cruelty. His confront was
continuously quiet and kind. Jean Valjean's conduct were more delicate and more fatherly than ever. In
case anything seem have deceived his need of delight, it was his expanded suavity.However, nothing of
all this was distinguishable to Cosette. No ill-temper, no cruelty. His confront was continuously peaceful
and kind. Jean Valjean's conduct were more delicate and more fatherly than ever. In case anything seem
have sold out his need of delight, it was his expanded suavity.

On her side, Cosette mulled. She endured from the nonappearance of Marius as she had cheered in his
nearness, curiously, without precisely being cognizant of it. When Jean Valjean ceased to require her on
their standard walks, a ladylike intuitive mumbled confusedly, at the foot of her heart, that she must not
appear to set store on the Luxembourg cultivate, which in the event that this demonstrated to be a
matter of impassion to her, her father would take her thither once more. But days, weeks, months,
passed. Jean Valjean had implicitly acknowledged Cosette's implied assent. She lamented it. It was as
well late.

So Marius had vanished; all was over. The day on which she returned to the Luxembourg,Marius was
not there. What was to be done? Ought to she ever discover him once more? She felt an anguish at her
heart, which nothing calmed, and which augmented every day; she not knew whether it was winter or
summer, whether it was sprinkling or sparkling, whether the winged creatures were singing, whether it
was the season for dahlias or daisies, whether the Luxembourg was more charming than the Tuileries,
whether the cloth which the laundress brought domestic was pressed as well much or not sufficient,
whether Toussaint had done "her showcasing" well or sick; and she remained sad, ingested, mindful to
but a single thought, her eyes dubious and gazing as when one looks by night at a dark and fathomless
spot where an nebulous vision has vanished.

Be that as it may, she did not permit Jean Valjean to see anything of this, but her pallor. She still wore
her sweet confront for him. This paleness sufficed but as well completely to inconvenience Jean Valjean.
Some of the time he inquired her:-- "What is the matter with you?" She answered: "There's nothing the
matter with me." And after a hush, when she divined that he was pitiful moreover, she would add:--
"And you, father--is there anything off-base with you?" "With me? Nothing," said he.

These two creatures who had adored each other so solely, and with so touching an love, and who had
lived so long for each other presently endured side by side, each on the other's account; without
recognizing it to each other, without outrage towards each other, and with a grin.