this was the last time. after that last flash of light, complete extinction ensued. no more familiarity, no more good-morning with a kiss, never more that word so profoundly sweet: "my father!" he was at his own request and through his own complicity driven out of all his happinesses one after the other; and he had this sorrow, that after having lost cosette wholly in one day, he was afterwards obliged to lose her again in detail.
the eye eventually becomes accustomed to the light of a cellar. in short, it sufficed for him to have an apparition of cosette every day. his whole life was concentrated in that one hour.
he seated himself close to her, he gazed at her in silence, or he talked to her of years gone by, of her childhood, of the convent, of her little friends of those bygone days.
one afternoon,--it was on one of those early days in april, already warm and fresh, the moment of the sun's great gayety, the gardens which surrounded the windows of marius and cosette felt the emotion of waking, the hawthorn was on the point of budding, a jewelled garniture of gillyflowers spread over the ancient walls, snapdragons yawned through the crevices of the stones, amid the grass there was a charming beginning of daisies, and buttercups, the white butterflies of the year were making their first appearance, the wind, that minstrel of the eternal wedding, was trying in the trees the first notes of that grand, auroral symphony which the old poets called the springtide,--marius said to cosette:--"we said that we would go back to take a look at our garden in the rue plumet.let us go thither.we must not be ungrateful."--and away they flitted, like two swallows towards the spring. this garden of the rue plumet produced on them the effect of the dawn. they already had behind them in life something which was like the springtime of their love. the house in the rue plumet being held on a lease, still belonged to cosette. they went to that garden and that house. there they found themselves again, there they forgot themselves. that evening, at the usual hour, jean valjean came to the rue des filles-du-calvaire.--"madame went out with monsieur and has not yet returned," basque said to him. he seated himself in silence, and waited an hour. cosette did not return. he departed with drooping head.
cosette was so intoxicated with her walk to "their garden," and so joyous at having "lived a whole day in her past," that she talked of nothing else on the morrow. she did not notice that she had not seen jean valjean.
"in what way did you go thither?" jean valjean asked her."
"on foot."
"and how did you return?"
"in a hackney carriage."
for some time, jean valjean had noticed the economical life led by the young people. he was troubled by it. marius' economy was severe, and that word had its absolute meaning for jean valjean. he hazarded a query:
"why do you not have a carriage of your own? a pretty coupe would only cost you five hundred francs a month. you are rich."
"i don't know," replied cosette.
"it is like toussaint," resumed jean valjean. "she is gone. you have not replaced her. why?"
"nicolette suffices."
"but you ought to have a maid."
"have i not marius?"
"you ought to have a house of your own, your own servants, a carriage, a box at the theatre. there is nothing too fine for you. why not profit by your riches? wealth adds to happiness."
cosette made no reply.
jean valjean's visits were not abridged. far from it. when it is the heart which is slipping, one does not halt on the downward slope.
when jean valjean wished to prolong his visit and to induce forgetfulness of the hour, he sang the praises of marius; he pronounced him handsome, noble, courageous, witty, eloquent, good. cosette outdid him. jean valjean began again. they were never weary. marius--that word was inexhaustible; those six letters contained volumes. in this manner, jean valjean contrived to remain a long time.
it was so sweet to see cosette, to forget by her side! it alleviated his wounds. it frequently happened that basque came twice to announce: "m. gillenormand sends me to remind madame la baronne that dinner is served."
on those days, jean valjean was very thoughtful on his return home.
was there, then, any truth in that comparison of the chrysalis which had presented itself to the mind of marius? was jean valjean really a chrysalis who would persist, and who would come to visit his butterfly?
one day he remained still longer than usual. on the following day he observed that there was no fire on the hearth.--"hello!" he thought. "no fire."--and he furnished the explanation for himself.--"it is perfectly simple. it is april. the cold weather has ceased."
"heavens! how cold it is here!" exclaimed cosette when she entered.
"why, no," said jean valjean.
"was it you who told basque not to make a fire then?"
"yes, since we are now in the month of may."
"but we have a fire until june. one is needed all the year in this cellar."
"i thought that a fire was unnecessary."
"that is exactly like one of your ideas!" retorted cosette.
on the following day there was a fire. but the two arm-chairs were arranged at the other end of the room near the door. "--what is the meaning of this?" thought jean valjean.
he went for the arm-chairs and restored them to their ordinary place near the hearth.
this fire lighted once more encouraged him, however. he prolonged the conversation even beyond its customary limits. as he rose to take his leave, cosette said to him:
"my husband said a queer thing to me yesterday."
"what was it?"
"he said to me: `cosette, we have an income of thirty thousand livres. twenty-seven that you own, and three that my grandfather gives me.' i replied: that makes thirty.' he went on: would you have the courage to live on the three thousand?' i answered:` yes, on nothing. provided that it was with you.' and then i asked: why do you say that to me?' he replied: i wanted to know.'"
jean valjean found not a word to answer. cosette probably expected some explanation from him; he listened in gloomy silence. he went back to the rue de l'homme arme; he was so deeply absorbed that he mistook the door and instead of entering his own house, he entered the adjoining dwelling. it was only after having ascended nearly two stories that he perceived his error and went down again.
his mind was swarming with conjectures. it was evident that marius had his doubts as to the origin of the six hundred thousand francs, that he feared some source that was not pure, who knows? that he had even, perhaps, discovered that the money came from him, jean valjean, that he hesitated before this suspicious fortune, and was disinclined to take it as his own,--preferring that both he and cosette should remain poor, rather than that they should be rich with wealth that was not clean.
moreover, jean valjean began vaguely to surmise that he was being shown the door.
on the following day, he underwent something like a shock on entering the ground-floor room. the arm-chairs had disappeared. there was not a single chair of any sort.
"ah, what's this!" exclaimed cosette as she entered,"no chairs! where are the arm-chairs?"
"they are no longer here," replied jean valjean.
"this is too much!"
jean valjean stammered:
"it was i who told basque to remove them."
"and your reason?"
"i have only a few minutes to stay to-day."
"a brief stay is no reason for remaining standing."
"i think that basque needed the chairs for the drawing-room.
"why?"
"you have company this evening, no doubt."
"we expect no one."
jean valjean had not another word to say.
cosette shrugged her shoulders.
"to have the chairs carried off! the other day you had the fire put out. how odd you are!"
"adieu!" murmured jean valjean.
he did not say: "adieu, cosette." but he had not the strength to say: "adieu, madame."
he went away utterly overwhelmed.
this time he had understood.
on the following day he did not come. cosette only observed the fact in the evening.
"why," said she, "monsieur jean has not been here today."
and she felt a slight twinge at her heart, but she hardly perceived it, being immediately diverted by a kiss from marius.
on the following day he did not come.
cosette paid no heed to this, passed her evening and slept well that night, as usual, and thought of it only when she woke. she was so happy! she speedily despatched nicolette to m. jean's house to inquire whether he were ill, and why he had not come on the previous evening. nicolette brought back the reply of m. jean that he was not ill. he was busy. he would come soon. as soon as he was able. moreover, he was on the point of taking a little journey. madame must remember that it was his custom to take trips from time to time. they were not to worry about him. they were not to think of him.
nicolette on entering m. jean's had repeated to him her mistress' very words. that madame had sent her to inquire why m. jean bad not come on the preceding evening."--it is two days since i have been there," said jean valjean gently.
but the remark passed unnoticed by nicolette, who did not report it to cosette.
这是最后一次了。这最后的微光一过，就出现了完全的熄灭。不再有亲近的表示，见面问好时不再接吻，不再听到“父亲”这个非常温暖的称呼了！是他，按照自己的要求和自己计划好的，接连把自己的一切幸福赶走；他受的苦难是在一天之内先是整个地失去珂赛特，后来还得一点一点地失去她。
眼睛已经对地窖里的光线习惯了。总之，每天见珂赛特一面，他已感到满足。他的生活都集中在这一刻里。他坐在她身旁，静静地望着她，或者和她谈谈过去的那些年，她的童年时期，她在修女院的情景和她那时的小朋友。
有一天下午棗在四月初，天气已经暖了，但还有点凉意，正是阳光明媚的时刻，马吕斯和珂赛特窗外的花园已经苏醒，山楂花即将开放，一排紫罗兰艳丽得象宝石，在老墙上开放，粉红的狼嘴花在石缝里张着大口，小白菊和金毛莨可爱地出现在绿草丛中，今年的白蝴蝶也初次露面。风，这个天长地久的喜事吹鼓手，在树林中开始演奏晨曦的大交响乐，老诗人则称之为新春。马吕斯向珂赛特说：“我们说过要去看看我们卜吕梅街的花园，这就去吧，别成为忘恩负义的人。”于是他俩就去了，好象两只燕子飞向春天一样。他们感到这卜吕梅街的花园好象他们的黎明。他们已在生活里留下了某种类似爱情的春天的东西。卜吕梅街的房子原有租赁契约，现在还属于珂赛特。他们到那个花园和房屋里去。他们又在那儿聚首，并在那里忘记了一切。晚上，在惯常的时刻，冉阿让来到受难修女街。“夫人和先生一同出去了，还没有回来。”巴斯克向他说。他静坐等了一小时，珂赛特还没有回来。他低下头就走了。珂赛特对这次重访“他们的花园”心醉神迷，并且为“整整一天生活在她的过去”而非常快乐，第二天她除了这件事之外没谈过别的，她没有注意到她没有见到冉阿让。
“你们是怎么去的？”冉阿让问她。
“走去的。”
“回来呢？”
“坐街车。”
近来，冉阿让注意到年轻的夫妇在节俭过日子，他为此感到烦恼。节俭是马吕斯严格遵守的，而这个词对冉阿让则完全有它的意义。他试探着问了一句：
“为什么你们不自备一辆车呢？一辆漂亮的轿式马车一个月只花五百法郎，你们是富裕的。”
“我不知道。”珂赛特回答。
“就拿杜桑来说吧，”冉阿让说，“她走了，您也不添个人，为什么？”
“有妮珂莱特就够了。”
“您应该有一个收拾房间的女仆呀。”
“我不是有马吕斯吗？”
“你们应该有自己的房子，自己的仆人，一辆马车和戏院里的包厢，对您来说没有一样东西会太过分的。为什么不利用你们的财富？财富是增添幸福的呀！”
珂赛特不作声。
冉阿让来访的时间并没有缩短，恰好相反，如果心在向下滑，就不会在坡上停住。
当冉阿让想延长他的访问而使人忘却时间时，他就称赞马吕斯；他觉得他是美男子，高贵、勇敢、有智慧、有口才、心地好。珂赛特更加以补充。冉阿让重又开始赞颂，简直说不完。马吕斯，这个名字的涵义是无穷无尽的，六个字母拼成的名字包含好几本书的内容。这样冉阿让就能多待一会儿。看到珂赛特在他身旁忘记一切，这对他是何等的温暖！这是他伤口的敷料。好几次巴斯克一连通知两遍：“吉诺曼先生叫我提醒男爵夫人，晚餐已经准备好了。”
在这些日子里，冉阿让就心事重重地回家去。
马吕斯曾想到把他比作蝶蛹，难道其中有着真实的一面？
冉阿让难道是个蝶蛹，它坚持不懈地来看望他的蝴蝶？
有一天他比往常还待得久一点。第二天他注意到火炉里没有生火。“咦！”他在想，“没有火了。”他自己又这样解释：“很简单，已经到了四月。冷天已经过去了！”
“上帝！这里真冷！”珂赛特进来时喊着。
“不冷嘛！”冉阿让说。
“那么是您叫巴斯克不要生火的？”
“是的，我们快到五月了。”
“但我们到六月还要生火。在这地窖里，全年都得生火。”
“我认为不要火了。”
“这又是您的怪主意！”珂赛特说。
第二天，火又生起了。但那两把扶手椅摆到门口去了。
“这是什么意思？”冉阿让思忖着。
他去把椅子搬过来放在火炉旁。
重新燃起的炉火给了他勇气。他使他们的谈天又比平时长了一点。当他站起来要走时，珂赛特说：
“昨天我的丈夫和我谈了一桩怪事。”
“什么事？”
“他和我说：‘珂赛特，我们有三万利弗的年金，你有二万七千，外祖父给我三千。’我说：‘一共有三万。’他又说：‘你有勇气用那三千法郎生活吗？’我回答说：‘可以，没有钱也行，只要和你在一起。’事后我问他：‘为什么你对我说这些话？’他回答我：‘为了想了解一下。’”
冉阿让找不到话可说。珂赛特大概等着他的解释，他忧郁地静听着。他回到武人街；由于全神贯注在这件事上致使他走错大门。他没有进入自己的家，却走进了隔壁的房子，几乎走到了三楼才发觉自己错了，这才又折了回来。
此外冉阿让开始隐约感到主人有逐客之意。
下一天，他走进地下室时感到一阵震惊，扶手椅不见了，连一把普通的椅子也没有。
“啊，怎么啦！”珂赛特进来叫着，“没有扶手椅了，到哪去了？”
“它们不在了。”冉阿让回答。
“这太不象话！”
冉阿让结结巴巴地说：
“是我叫巴斯克搬走的。”
“原因是什么？”
“今天我只呆几分钟。”
“呆一会儿也没有理由要站着。”
“我想巴斯克客厅里需要扶手椅吧！”
“为什么？”
“你们今晚可能有客人。”
“今晚一个客人也没有。”
冉阿让再没有话可说了。
珂赛特耸耸肩。
“叫人把扶手椅搬走！那天又叫人熄火，您真古怪。”
“再见。”冉阿让轻声说。
他没有说：“再见，珂赛特。”但也没有勇气说：“再见，夫人。”
他心情沉重地走了出来。
这一次他明白了。
第二天他没有来。珂赛特到了晚上才发觉。
“咦，”她说，“今天让先生没有来。”
她心中有点抑郁，但并不明显，马吕斯的一吻就使她忘了此事。
以后的日子，他也没有再来。
珂赛特没有注意，她度过她的晚上，睡她的觉，好象平时一样，只在醒来时才想到。她是如此幸福！她很快就差妮珂莱特到让先生家去问问是否病了，为什么昨晚没有来。妮珂莱特带回让先生的回话，他一点没有病。他很忙，他很快就会来，他尽量早点来。再说，他要出去作一次短期的旅行。夫人应该记得他的习惯是不时要出去作一次旅行的，不要为他担心，不要惦记他。
当妮珂莱特走进让先生家时，她把她主妇的原话向他重复一遍：“夫人叫我来问问为什么让先生昨晚没有来。”“我两天没有去了。”冉阿让和气地说。
但他提到的这一点，妮珂莱特并没有记住，回去也没有对珂赛特说。
