雨果 悲惨世界 英文版2-第93部分

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　　Still；　when　she　arrived　there；　we　repeat；　she　was　only　a　child。　Jean　Valjean　gave　this　neglected　garden　over　to　her。
　　〃Do　what　you　like　with　it；〃　he　said　to　her。
　　This　amused　Cosette；　she　turned　over　all　the　clumps　and　all　the　stones；　she　hunted　for　〃beasts〃；　she　played　in　it；　while　awaiting　the　time　when　she　would　dream　in　it；　she　loved　this　garden　for　the　insects　that　she　found　beneath　her　feet　amid　the　grass；　while　awaiting　the　day　when　she　would　love　it　for　the　stars　that　she　would　see　through　the　boughs　above　her　head。
　　And　then；　she　loved　her　father；　that　is　to　say；　Jean　Valjean；　with　all　her　soul；　with　an　innocent　filial　passion　which　made　the　goodman　a　beloved　and　charming　panion　to　her。
　　It　will　be　remembered　that　M。　Madeleine　had　been　in　the　habit　of　reading　a　great　deal。
　　Jean　Valjean　had　continued　this　practice；　he　had　e　to　converse　well；　he　possessed　the　secret　riches　and　the　eloquence　of　a　true　and　humble　mind　which　has　spontaneously　cultivated　itself。　He　retained　just　enough　sharpness　to　season　his　kindness；　his　mind　was　rough　and　his　heart　was　soft。
　　During　their　conversations　in　the　Luxembourg；　he　gave　her　explanations　of　everything；　drawing　on　what　he　had　read；　and　also　on　what　he　had　suffered。　As　she　listened　to　him；　Cosette's　eyes　wandered　vaguely　about。
　　This　simple　man　sufficed　for　Cosette's　thought；　the　same　as　the　wild　garden　sufficed　for　her　eyes。
　　When　she　had　had　a　good　chase　after　the　butterflies；　she　came　panting　up　to　him　and　said：
　　〃Ah！
　　How　I　have　run！〃
　　He　kissed　her　brow。
　　Cosette　adored　the　goodman。
　　She　was　always　at　his　heels。　Where　Jean　Valjean　was；　there　happiness　was。
　　Jean　Valjean　lived　neither　in　the　pavilion　nor　the　garden；　she　took　greater　pleasure　in　the　paved　back　courtyard；　than　in　the　enclosure　filled　with　flowers；　and　in　his　little　lodge　furnished　with　straw…seated　chairs　than　in　the　great　drawing…room　hung　with　tapestry；　against　which　stood　tufted　easy…chairs。　Jean　Valjean　sometimes　said　to　her；　smiling　at　his　happiness　in　being　importuned：
　　〃Do　go　to　your　own　quarters！　Leave　me　alone　a　little！〃
　　She　gave　him　those　charming　and　tender　scoldings　which　are　so　graceful　when　they　e　from　a　daughter　to　her　father。
　　〃Father；　I　am　very　cold　in　your　rooms；　why　don't　you　have　a　carpet　here　and　a　stove？〃
　　〃Dear　child；　there　are　so　many　people　who　are　better　than　I　and　who　have　not　even　a　roof　over　their　heads。〃
　　〃Then　why　is　there　a　fire　in　my　rooms；　and　everything　that　is　needed？〃
　　〃Because　you　are　a　woman　and　a　child。〃
　　〃Bah！　must　men　be　cold　and　feel　unfortable？〃
　　〃Certain　men。〃
　　〃That　is　good；　I　shall　e　here　so　often　that　you　will　be　obliged　to　have　a　fire。〃
　　And　again　she　said　to　him：
　　〃Father；　why　do　you　eat　horrible　bread　like　that？〃
　　〃Because；　my　daughter。〃
　　〃Well；　if　you　eat　it；　I　will　eat　it　too。〃
　　Then；　in　order　to　prevent　Cosette　eating　black　bread；　Jean　Valjean　ate　white　bread。
　　Cosette　had　but　a　confused　recollection　of　her　childhood。
　　She　prayed　morning　and　evening　for　her　mother　whom　she　had　never　known。　The　Thenardiers　had　remained　with　her　as　two　hideous　figures　in　a　dream。
　　She　remembered　that　she　had　gone　〃one　day；　at　night；〃　to　fetch　water　in　a　forest。
　　She　thought　that　it　had　been　very　far　from　Paris。
　　It　seemed　to　her　that　she　had　begun　to　live　in　an　abyss；　and　that　it　was　Jean　Valjean　who　had　rescued　her　from　it。　Her　childhood　produced　upon　her　the　effect　of　a　time　when　there　had　been　nothing　around　her　but　millepeds；　spiders；　and　serpents。　When　she　meditated　in　the　evening；　before　falling　asleep；　as　she　had　not　a　very　clear　idea　that　she　was　Jean　Valjean's　daughter；　and　that　he　was　her　father；　she　fancied　that　the　soul　of　her　mother　had　passed　into　that　good　man　and　had　e　to　dwell　near　her。
　　When　he　was　seated；　she　leaned　her　cheek　against　his　white　hair；　and　dropped　a　silent　tear；　saying　to　herself：
　　〃Perhaps　this　man　is　my　mother。〃
　　Cosette；　although　this　is　a　strange　statement　to　make；　in　the　profound　ignorance　of　a　girl　brought　up　in　a　convent；　maternity　being　also　absolutely　unintelligible　to　virginity；　had　ended　by　fancying　that　she　had　had　as　little　mother　as　possible。　She　did　not　even　know　her　mother's　name。
　　Whenever　she　asked　Jean　Valjean；　Jean　Valjean　remained　silent。
　　If　she　repeated　her　question；　he　responded　with　a　smile。
　　Once　she　insisted；　the　smile　ended　in　a　tear。
　　This　silence　on　the　part　of　Jean　Valjean　covered　Fantine　with　darkness。
　　Was　it　prudence？
　　Was　it　respect？
　　Was　it　a　fear　that　he　should　deliver　this　name　to　the　hazards　of　another　memory　than　his　own？
　　So　long　as　Cosette　had　been　small；　Jean　Valjean　had　been　willing　to　talk　to　her　of　her　mother；　when　she　became　a　young　girl；　it　was　impossible　for　him　to　do　so。
　　It　seemed　to　him　that　he　no　longer　dared。
　　Was　it　because　of　Cosette？
　　Was　it　because　of　Fantine？
　　He　felt　a　certain　religious　horror　at　letting　that　shadow　enter　Cosette's　thought；　and　of　placing　a　third　in　their　destiny。
　　The　more　sacred　this　shade　was　to　him；　the　more　did　it　seem　that　it　was　to　be　feared。　He　thought　of　Fantine；　and　felt　himself　overwhelmed　with　silence。
　　Through　the　darkness；　he　vaguely　perceived　something　which　appeared　to　have　its　finger　on　its　lips。
　　Had　all　the　modesty　which　had　been　in　Fantine；　and　which　had　violently　quitted　her　during　her　lifetime；　returned　to　rest　upon　her　after　her　death；　to　watch　in　indignation　over　the　peace　of　that　dead　woman；　and　in　its　shyness；　to　keep　her　in　her　grave？
　　Was　Jean　Valjean　unconsciously　submitting　to　the　pressure？　We　who　believe　in　death；　are　not　among　the　number　who　will　reject　this　mysterious　explanation。
　　Hence　the　impossibility　of　uttering；　even　for　Cosette；　that　name　of　Fantine。
　　One　day　Cosette　said　to　him：
　　〃Father；　I　saw　my　mother　in　a　dream　last　night。
　　She　had　two　big　wings。　My　mother　must　have　been　almost　a　saint　during　her　life。〃
　　〃Through　martyrdom；〃　replied　Jean　Valjean。
　　However；　Jean　Valjean　was　happy。
　　When　Cosette　went　out　with　him；　she　leaned　on　his　arm；　proud　and　happy；　in　the　plenitude　of　her　heart。
　　Jean　Valjean　felt　his　heart　melt　within　him　with　delight；　at　all　these　sparks　of　a　tenderness　so　exclusive；　so　wholly　satisfied　with　himself　alone。
　　The　poor　man　trembled；　inundated　with　angelic　joy；　he　declared　to　himself　ecstatically　that　this　would　last　all　their　lives；　he　told　himself　that　he　really　had　not　suffered　sufficiently　to　merit　so　radiant　a　bliss；　and　he　thanked　God；　in　the　depths　of　his　soul；　for　having　permitted　him　to　be　loved　thus；　he；　a　wretch；　by　that　innocent　being。


BOOK　THIRD。THE　HOUSE　IN　THE　RUE　PLUMET
CHAPTER　V　
　　THE　ROSE　PERCEIVES　THAT　IT　IS　AN　ENGINE　OF　WAR
　　　One　day；　Cosette　chanced　to　look　at　herself　in　her　mirror；　and　she　said　to　herself：
　　〃Really！〃
　　It　seemed　to　her　almost　that　she　was　pretty。
　　This　threw　her　in　a　singularly　troubled　state　of　mind。
　　Up　to　that　moment　she　had　never　thought　of　her　face。　She　saw　herself　in　her　mirror；　but　she　did　not　look　at　herself。　And　then；　she　had　so　often　been　told　that　she　was　homely；　Jean　Valjean　alone　said　gently：
　　〃No　indeed！　no　indeed！〃　At　all　events；　Cosette　had　always　thought　herself　homely；　and　had　grown　up　in　that　belief　with　the　easy　resignation　of　childhood。　And　here；　all　at　once；　was　her　mirror　saying　to　her；　as　Jean　Valjean　had　said：
　　〃No　indeed！〃
　　That　night；　she　did　not　sleep。
　　〃What　if　I　were　pretty！〃　she　thought。
　　〃How　odd　it　would　be　if　I　were　pretty！〃　And　she　recalled　those　of　her　panions　whose　beauty　had　produced　a　sensation　in　the　convent；　and　she　said　to　herself：
　　〃What！
　　Am　I　to　be　like　Mademoiselle　So…and…So？〃
　　The　next　morning　she　looked　at　herself　again；　not　by　accident　this　time；　and　she　was　assailed　with　doubts：
　　〃Where　did　I　get　such　an　idea？〃　said　she；　〃no；　I　am　ugly。〃
　　She　had　not　slept　well；　that　was　all；　her　eyes　were　sunken　and　she　was　pale。
　　She　had　not　felt　very　joyous　on　the　preceding　evening　in　the　belief　that　she　was　beautiful；　but　it　made　her　very　sad　not　to　be　able　to　believe　in　it　any　longer。　She　did　not　look　at　herself　again；　and　for　more　than　a　fortnight　she　tried　to　dress　her　hair　with　her　back　turned　to　the　mirror。
　　In　the　evening；　after　dinner；　she　generally　embroidered　in　wool　or　did　some　convent　needlework　in　the　drawing…room；　and　Jean　Valjean　read　beside　her。
　　Once　she　raised　her　eyes　from　her　work；　and　was　rendered　quite　uneasy　by　the　manner　in　which　her　father　was　gazing　at　her。
　　On　another　occasion；　she　was　passing　along　the　street；　and　it　seemed　to　her　that　some　one　behind　her；　whom　she　did　not　see；　said：
　　〃A　pretty　woman！　but　badly　dressed。〃　〃Bah！〃　she　thought；　〃he　does　not　mean　me。
　　I　am　well　dressed　and　ugly。〃
　　She　was　then　wearing　a　plush　hat　and　her　merino　gown。
　　At　last；　one　day　when　she　was　in　the　garden；　she　heard　poor　old　Toussaint　saying：
　　〃Do　you　notice　how　pretty　Cosette　is　growing；　sir？〃　Cosette　did　not　hear　her　father's　reply；　but　Toussaint's　words　caused　a　sort　of　motion　within　her。
　　She　fled　from　the　garden；　ran　up　to　her　room；　flew　to　the　looking…glass；it　was　three　months　since　she　had　looked　at　herself；and　gave　vent　to　a　cry。　She　had　just　dazzled　herself。
　　She　was　beautiful　and　lovely；　she　could　not　help　agreeing　with　Toussaint　and　her　mirror。
　　Her　figure　was　formed；　her　skin　had　grown　white；　her　hair　was　lustrous；　an　unaccustomed　splendor　had　been　lighted　in　her　blue　eyes。
　　The　consciousness　of　her　beauty　burst　upon　her　in　an　instant；　like　the　sudden　advent　of　daylight；　other　people　noticed　it　also；　Toussaint　had　said　so；　it　was　evidently　she　of　whom　the　passer…by　had　spoken；　there　could　no　longer　be　any　doubt　of　that；　she　descended　to　the　garden　again；　thinking　herself　a　queen；　imagining　that　she　heard　the　birds　singing；　though　it　was　winter；　seeing　the　sky　gilded；　the　sun　among　the　trees；　flowers　in　the　thickets；　distracted；　wild；　in　inexpressible　delight。
　　Jean　Valjean；　on　his　side；　experienced　a　deep　and　undefinable　oppression　at　heart。
　　In　fact；　he　had；　for　some　time　past；　been　contemplating　with　terror　that　beauty　which　seemed　to　grow　more　radiant　e