by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER IV.
MLLE. GILLENORMAND HAS NO OBJECTIONS TO THE MATCH.
Cosette and Marius saw each other again. We will not attempt todescribe the interview, for there are things which we must not attemptto paint: the sun is of the number. The whole family, Basque andNicolette included, were assembled in Marius's chamber at the momentwhen Cosette entered. She appeared in the doorway, and seemed to besurrounded by a halo: precisely at this moment the grandfather wasgoing to blow his nose, but he stopped short, holding his nose in hishandkerchief and looking over it.
"Adorable!" he cried.
And then he blew a sonorous blast. Cosette was intoxicated, ravished,startled, in heaven. She was as timid as a person can be throughhappiness; she stammered, turned pale and then pink, and wished tothrow herself into Marius's arms, but dared not. She was ashamed ofloving before so many people; for the world is merciless to happylovers, and always remains at the very moment when they most long tobe alone. And yet they do not want these people at, all. With Cosette,and behind her, had entered a white-haired man, serious, but stillsmiling, though the smile was wandering and poignant. It was "MonsieurFauchelevent,"--it was Jean Valjean. He was _well-dressed_, as theporter had said, in a new black suit and a white cravat. The porterwas a thousand leagues from recognizing in this correct citizen, thisprobable notary, the frightful corpse-bearer who had arrived at thegate on the night of June 7, ragged, filthy, hideous, and haggard,with a mask of blood and mud on his face, supporting in his arms theunconscious Marius; still his porter's instincts were aroused. When M.Fauchelevent arrived with Cosette, the porter could not refrain fromconfiding this aside to his wife, "I don't know why, but I fancy that Ihave seen that face before." M. Fauchelevent remained standing by thedoor of Marius's room, as if afraid; he held under his arm a packetrather like an octavo volume wrapped in paper. The paper was green,apparently from mildew.
"Has this gentleman always got books under his arm like that?"Mademoiselle Gillenormand, who was not fond of books, asked Nicolettein a whisper.
"Well," M. Gillenormand, who had heard her, answered in the same key,"he is a savant; is that his fault? Monsieur Boulard, whom I knew,never went out without a book either, and like him had always had anold book near his heart."
Then bowing, he said in a loud voice,--
"M. Tranchelevent."
Father Gillenormand did not do it purposely, but an inattention toproper names was an aristocratic way of his.
"Monsieur Tranchelevent, I have the honor of requesting this lady'shand for my grandson, M. le Baron Marius Pontmercy."
Monsieur "Tranchelevent" bowed.
"All right," the grandfather said.
And turning to Marius and Cosette, with both arms extended inbenediction, he cried,--
"You have leave to adore each other."
They did not let it be said twice, and the prattling began. They talkedin a whisper, Marius reclining on his couch and Cosette standing byhis side. "Oh, Heaven!" Cosette murmured, "I see you again: it is you.To go and fight like that! But why? It is horrible. For four monthsI have been dead. Oh, how wicked it was of you to have been at thatbattle! What had I done to you? I forgive you, but you will not do itagain. Just now, when they came to tell me to come to you, I thoughtagain that I was going to die, but it was of joy. I was so sad! I didnot take the time to dress myself, and I must look frightful; what willyour relation say at seeing me in a tumbled collar? But speak! you letme speak all alone. We are still in the Rue de l'Homme Armé. It seemsthat your shoulder was terrible, and I was told that I could have putmy hand in it, and that your flesh was as if it had been cut withscissors. How frightful that is! I wept so that I have no eyes left. Itis strange that a person can suffer like that Your grandfather has avery kind look. Do not disturb yourself, do not rest on your elbow likethat, or you will hurt yourself. Oh, how happy I am! So our misfortunesare all ended! I am quite foolish. There were things I wanted to sayto you which I have quite forgotten. Do you love me still? We live inthe Rue de l'Homme Armé. There is no garden there. I made lint thewhole time; look here, sir, it is your fault, my fingers are quiterough."
"Angel!" said Marius.
_Angel_ is the only word in the language which cannot be worn out; noother word would resist the pitiless use which lovers make of it. Then,as there was company present, they broke off, and did not say a wordmore, contenting themselves with softly clasping hands. M. Gillenormandturned to all the rest in the room, and cried,--
"Speak loudly, good people; make a noise, will you? Come, a little row,hang it all! so that these children may prattle at their ease."
And going up to Marius and Cosette, he whispered to them,--
"Go on; don't put yourselves out of the way."
Aunt Gillenormand witnessed with stupor this irruption of light intoher antiquated house. This stupor had nothing aggressive about it; itwas not at all the scandalized and envious glance cast by an owl attwo ring-doves: it was the stupid eye of a poor innocent of the age offifty-seven; it was a spoiled life looking at that triumph, love.
"Mademoiselle Gillenormand the elder," her father said to her, "I toldyou that this would happen." He remained silent for a moment, andadded,--
"Look at the happiness of others."
Then he turned to Cosette.
"How pretty she is! how pretty she is! she is a Greuze! So you aregoing to have all that for yourself, scamp? Ah, my boy, you have hada lucky escape from me; for if I were not fifteen years too old wewould fight with swords and see who should have her. There, I am inlove with you, Mademoiselle; but it is very natural, it is your right.What a famous, charming little wedding we will have! St. Denis duSaint-Sacrament is our parish; but I will procure a dispensation, sothat you may be married at St. Paul, for the church is better. It wasbuilt for the Jesuits, and more coquettish. It is opposite CardinalBirague's fountain. The masterpiece of Jesuit architecture is atNamur, and is called St. Loup; you should go and see that when you aremarried, for it is worth the journey. Mademoiselle, I am entirely ofyour opinion; I wish girls to marry, for they are made for it. There isa certain Sainte Catharine whom I would always like to see with hairdisordered. To remain a maid is fine, but it is cold. Multiply, saysthe Bible. To save the people a Joan of Arc is wanted; but to make apeople we want Mother Gigogne. So marry, my darlings; I really do notsee the use of remaining a maid. I know very well that they have aseparate chapel in church, and join the confraternity of the Virgin;but, sapristi! a good-looking young husband, and at the end of a year aplump bantling, who sucks at you bravely, and who has rolls of fat onhis thighs, and who clutches your bosom with his pink little paws, area good deal better than holding a candle at vespers and singing _TurrisEburnea."_
The grandfather pirouetted on his nonagenarian heels, and beganspeaking again, like a spring which had been wound up:--
"Ainsi, bornant le cours de tes rêvasseries, Alcippe, il est donc vrai, dans peu tu te maries."
"By the bye?"
"What, father?"
"Had you not an intimate friend?"
"Yes, Courfeyrac."
"What has become of him?"
"He is dead."
"That is well."
He sat down by their side, made Cosette take a chair, and took theirfour hands in his old wrinkled hands.
"This darling is exquisite! This Cosette is a masterpiece! She is avery little girl and a very great lady. She will be only a baroness,and that is a derogation, for she is born to be a marchioness. Whateyelashes she has! My children, drive it well into your pates thatyou are on the right road. Love one another; be foolish over it, forlove is the stupidity of men and the cleverness of God. So adore oneanother. Still," he added, suddenly growing sad, "what a misfortune!More than half I possess is sunk in annuities; so long as I live itwill be all right, but when I am dead, twenty years hence, ah! my poorchildren, you will not have a farthing! Your pretty white hands, Madamela Baronne, will be wrinkled by work."
Here a serious and calm voice was he
ard saying:
"Mademoiselle Euphrasie Fauchelevent has six hundred thousand francs."
It was Jean Valjean's voice. He had not yet uttered a syllable; no oneseemed to remember that he was present, and he stood motionless behindall these happy people.
"Who is the Mademoiselle Euphrasie in question?" the startledgrandfather asked.
"Myself," said Cosette.
"Six hundred thousand francs!" M. Gillenormand repeated.
"Less fourteen or fifteen thousand, perhaps," Jean Valjean said.
And he laid on the table the parcel which Aunt Gillenormand had takenfor a book. Jean Valjean himself opened the packet; it was a bundle ofbank-notes. They were turned over and counted; there were six hundredbank-notes for a thousand francs, and one hundred and sixty-eight forfive hundred, forming a total of five hundred and eighty-four thousandfrancs.
"That's a famous book," said M. Gillenormand.
"Five hundred and eighty-four thousand francs!" the aunt murmured.
"That arranges a good many things, does it not, MademoiselleGillenormand the elder?" the grandfather continued. "That devil of aMarius has found a millionnaire grisette upon the tree of dreams! Nowtrust to the amourettes of young people! Students find studentesseswith six hundred thousand francs. Cherubin works better thanRothschild."
"Five hundred and eighty-four thousand francs!" MademoiselleGillenormand repeated; "five hundred and eighty-four thousand francs!We may as well say six hundred thousand."
As for Marius and Cosette, they were looking at each other during thisperiod, and hardly paid any attention to this detail.