雨果 悲惨世界 英文版2-第96部分

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　　Then　his　eyes　were　filled　with　a　sad　and　extraordinary　gleam。
　　It　was　no　longer　a　man　gazing　at　a　man；　it　was　no　longer　an　enemy　surveying　an　enemy。
　　It　was　a　dog　scanning　a　thief。
　　The　reader　knows　the　rest。
　　Marius　pursued　his　senseless　course。　One　day　he　followed　Cosette　to　the　Rue　de　l'Ouest。　Another　day　he　spoke　to　the　porter。
　　The　porter；　on　his　side；　spoke；　and　said　to　Jean　Valjean：
　　〃Monsieur；　who　is　that　curious　young　man　who　is　asking　for　you？〃
　　On　the　morrow　Jean　Valjean　bestowed　on　Marius　that　glance　which　Marius　at　last　perceived。
　　A　week　later；　Jean　Valjean　had　taken　his　departure。
　　He　swore　to　himself　that　he　would　never　again　set　foot　either　in　the　Luxembourg　or　in　the　Rue　de　l'Ouest。　He　returned　to　the　Rue　Plumet。
　　Cosette　did　not　plain；　she　said　nothing；　she　asked　no　questions；　she　did　not　seek　to　learn　his　reasons；　she　had　already　reached　the　point　where　she　was　afraid　of　being　divined；　and　of　betraying　herself。　Jean　Valjean　had　no　experience　of　these　miseries；　the　only　miseries　which　are　charming　and　the　only　ones　with　which　he　was　not　acquainted；　the　consequence　was　that　he　did　not　understand　the　grave　significance　of　Cosette's　silence。
　　He　merely　noticed　that　she　had　grown　sad；　and　he　grew　gloomy。　On　his　side　and　on　hers；　inexperience　had　joined　issue。
　　Once　he　made　a　trial。
　　He　asked　Cosette：
　　〃Would　you　like　to　e　to　the　Luxembourg？〃
　　A　ray　illuminated　Cosette's　pale　face。
　　〃Yes；〃　said　she。
　　They　went　thither。
　　Three　months　had　elapsed。
　　Marius　no　longer　went　there。
　　Marius　was　not　there。
　　On　the　following　day；　Jean　Valjean　asked　Cosette　again：
　　〃Would　you　like　to　e　to　the　Luxembourg？〃
　　She　replied；　sadly　and　gently：
　　〃No。〃
　　Jean　Valjean　was　hurt　by　this　sadness；　and　heart…broken　at　this　gentleness。
　　What　was　going　on　in　that　mind　which　was　so　young　and　yet　already　so　impenetrable？
　　What　was　on　its　way　there　within？
　　What　was　taking　place　in　Cosette's　soul？
　　Sometimes；　instead　of　going　to　bed；　Jean　Valjean　remained　seated　on　his　pallet；　with　his　head　in　his　hands；　and　he　passed　whole　nights　asking　himself：
　　〃What　has　Cosette　in　her　mind？〃　and　in　thinking　of　the　things　that　she　might　be　thinking　about。
　　Oh！　at　such　moments；　what　mournful　glances　did　he　cast　towards　that　cloister；　that　chaste　peak；　that　abode　of　angels；　that　inaccessible　glacier　of　virtue！
　　How　he　contemplated；　with　despairing　ecstasy；　that　convent　garden；　full　of　ignored　flowers　and　cloistered　virgins；　where　all　perfumes　and　all　souls　mount　straight　to　heaven！　How　he　adored　that　Eden　forever　closed　against　him；　whence　he　had　voluntarily　and　madly　emerged！
　　How　he　regretted　his　abnegation　and　his　folly　in　having　brought　Cosette　back　into　the　world；　poor　hero　of　sacrifice；　seized　and　hurled　to　the　earth　by　his　very　self…devotion！　How　he　said　to　himself；　〃What　have　I　done？〃
　　However；　nothing　of　all　this　was　perceptible　to　Cosette。　No　ill…temper；　no　harshness。
　　His　face　was　always　serene　and　kind。　Jean　Valjean's　manners　were　more　tender　and　more　paternal　than　ever。　If　anything　could　have　betrayed　his　lack　of　joy；　it　was　his　increased　suavity。
　　On　her　side；　Cosette　languished。
　　She　suffered　from　the　absence　of　Marius　as　she　had　rejoiced　in　his　presence；　peculiarly；　without　exactly　being　conscious　of　it。
　　When　Jean　Valjean　ceased　to　take　her　on　their　customary　strolls；　a　feminine　instinct　murmured　confusedly；　at　the　bottom　of　her　heart；　that　she　must　not　seem　to　set　store　on　the　Luxembourg　garden；　and　that　if　this　proved　to　be　a　matter　of　indifference　to　her；　her　father　would　take　her　thither　once　more。　But　days；　weeks；　months；　elapsed。
　　Jean　Valjean　had　tacitly　accepted　Cosette's　tacit　consent。
　　She　regretted　it。
　　It　was　too　late。　So　Marius　had　disappeared；　all　was　over。
　　The　day　on　which　she　returned　to　the　Luxembourg；　Marius　was　no　longer　there。
　　What　was　to　be　done？　Should　she　ever　find　him　again？
　　She　felt　an　anguish　at　her　heart；　which　nothing　relieved；　and　which　augmented　every　day；　she　no　longer　knew　whether　it　was　winter　or　summer；　whether　it　was　raining　or　shining；　whether　the　birds　were　singing；　whether　it　was　the　season　for　dahlias　or　daisies；　whether　the　Luxembourg　was　more　charming　than　the　Tuileries；　whether　the　linen　which　the　laundress　brought　home　was　starched　too　much　or　not　enough；　whether　Toussaint　had
　　done　〃her　marketing〃　well　or　ill；　and　she　remained　dejected；　absorbed；　attentive　to　but　a　single　thought；　her　eyes　vague　and　staring　as　when　one　gazes　by　night　at　a　black　and　fathomless　spot　where　an　apparition　has　vanished。
　　However；　she　did　not　allow　Jean　Valjean　to　perceive　anything　of　this；　except　her　pallor。
　　She　still　wore　her　sweet　face　for　him。
　　This　pallor　sufficed　but　too　thoroughly　to　trouble　Jean　Valjean。　Sometimes　he　asked　her：
　　〃What　is　the　matter　with　you？〃
　　She　replied：
　　〃There　is　nothing　the　matter　with　me。〃
　　And　after　a　silence；　when　she　divined　that　he　was　sad　also；　she　would　add：
　　〃And　you；　fatheris　there　anything　wrong　with　you？〃
　　〃With　me？
　　Nothing；〃　said　he。
　　These　two　beings　who　had　loved　each　other　so　exclusively；　and　with　so　touching　an　affection；　and　who　had　lived　so　long　for　each　other　now　suffered　side　by　side；　each　on　the　other's　account；　without　acknowledging　it　to　each　other；　without　anger　towards　each　other；　and　with　a　smile。


BOOK　THIRD。THE　HOUSE　IN　THE　RUE　PLUMET
CHAPTER　VIII　
　　THE　CHAIN…GANG
　　　Jean　Valjean　was　the　more　unhappy　of　the　two。
　　Youth；　even　in　its　sorrows；　always　possesses　its　own　peculiar　radiance。
　　At　times；　Jean　Valjean　suffered　so　greatly　that　he　became　puerile。　It　is　the　property　of　grief　to　cause　the　childish　side　of　man　to　reappear。
　　He　had　an　unconquerable　conviction　that　Cosette　was　escaping　from　him。
　　He　would　have　liked　to　resist；　to　retain　her；　to　arouse　her　enthusiasm　by　some　external　and　brilliant　matter。　These　ideas；　puerile；　as　we　have　just　said；　and　at　the　same　time　senile；　conveyed　to　him；　by　their　very　childishness；　a　tolerably　just　notion　of　the　influence　of　gold　lace　on　the　imaginations　of　young　girls。　He　once　chanced　to　see　a　general　on　horseback；　in　full　uniform；　pass　along　the　street；　te　Coutard；　the　mandant　of　Paris。　He　envied　that　gilded　man；　what　happiness　it　would　be；　he　said　to　himself；　if　he　could　put　on　that　suit　which　was　an　incontestable　thing；　and　if　Cosette　could　behold　him　thus；　she　would　be　dazzled；　and　when　he　had　Cosette　on　his　arm　and　passed　the　gates　of　the　Tuileries；　the　guard　would　present　arms　to　him；　and　that　would　suffice　for　Cosette；　and　would　dispel　her　idea　of　looking　at　young　men。
　　An　unforeseen　shock　was　added　to　these　sad　reflections。
　　In　the　isolated　life　which　they　led；　and　since　they　had　e　to　dwell　in　the　Rue　Plumet；　they　had　contracted　one　habit。　They　sometimes　took　a　pleasure　trip　to　see　the　sun　rise；　a　mild　species　of　enjoyment　which　befits　those　who　are　entering　life　and　those　who　are　quitting　it。
　　For　those　who　love　solitude；　a　walk　in　the　early　morning　is　equivalent　to　a　stroll　by　night；　with　the　cheerfulness　of　nature　added。　The　streets　are　deserted　and　the　birds　are　singing。
　　Cosette；　a　bird　herself；　liked　to　rise　early。
　　These　matutinal　excursions　were　planned　on　the　preceding　evening。
　　He　proposed；　and　she　agreed。　It　was　arranged　like　a　plot；　they　set　out　before　daybreak；　and　these　trips　were　so　many　small　delights　for　Cosette。　These　innocent　eccentricities　please　young　people。
　　Jean　Valjean's　inclination　led　him；　as　we　have　seen；　to　the　least　frequented　spots；　to　solitary　nooks；　to　forgotten　places。　There　then　existed；　in　the　vicinity　of　the　barriers　of　Paris；　a　sort　of　poor　meadows；　which　were　almost　confounded　with　the　city；　where　grew　in　summer　sickly　grain；　and　which；　in　autumn；　after　the　harvest　had　been　gathered；　presented　the　appearance；　not　of　having　been　reaped；　but　peeled。
　　Jean　Valjean　loved　to　haunt　these　fields。
　　Cosette　was　not　bored　there。
　　It　meant　solitude　to　him　and　liberty　to　her。
　　There；　she　became　a　little　girl　once　more；　she　could　run　and　almost　play；　she　took　off　her　hat；　laid　it　on　Jean　Valjean's　knees；　and　gathered　bunches　of　flowers。　She　gazed　at　the　butterflies　on　the　flowers；　but　did　not　catch　them；　gentleness　and　tenderness　are　born　with　love；　and　the　young　girl　who　cherishes　within　her　breast　a　trembling　and　fragile　ideal　has　mercy　on　the　wing　of　a　butterfly。
　　She　wove　garlands　of　poppies；　which　she　placed　on　her　head；　and　which；　crossed　and　penetrated　with　sunlight；　glowing　until　they　flamed；　formed　for　her　rosy　face　a　crown　of　burning　embers。
　　Even　after　their　life　had　grown　sad；　they　kept　up　their　custom　of　early　strolls。
　　One　morning　in　October；　therefore；　tempted　by　the　serene　perfection　of　the　autumn　of　1831；　they　set　out；　and　found　themselves　at　break　of　day　near　the　Barriere　du　Maine。
　　It　was　not　dawn；　it　was　daybreak；　a　delightful　and　stern　moment。
　　A　few　constellations　here　and　there　in　the　deep；　pale　azure；　the　earth　all　black；　the　heavens　all　white；　a　quiver　amid　the　blades　of　grass；　everywhere　the　mysterious　chill　of　twilight。
　　A　lark；　which　seemed　mingled　with　the　stars；　was　carolling　at　a　prodigious　height；　and　one　would　have　declared　that　that　hymn　of　pettiness　calmed　immensity。
　　In　the　East；　the　Valde…Grace　projected　its　dark　mass　on　the　clear　horizon　with　the　sharpness　of　steel；　Venus　dazzlingly　brilliant　was　rising　behind　that　dome　and　had　the　air　of　a　soul　making　its　escape　from　a　gloomy　edifice。
　　All　was　peace　and　silence；　there　was　no　one　on　the　road；　a　few　stray　laborers；　of　whom　they　caught　barely　a　glimpse；　were　on　their　way　to　their　work　along　the　side…paths。
　　Jean　Valjean　was　sitting　in　a　cross…walk　on　some　planks　deposited　at　the　gate　of　a　timber…yard。　His　face　was　turned　towards　the　highway；　his　back　towards　the　light；　he　had　forgotten　the　sun　which　was　on　the　point　of　rising；　he　had　sunk　into　one　of　those　profound　absorptions　in　which　the　mind　bees　concentrated；　which　imprison　even　the　eye；　and　which　are　equivalent　to　four　walls。
　　There　are　meditations　which　may　be　called　vertical；　when　one　is　at　the　bottom　of　them；　time　is　required　to