Jean Valjean suspected nothing. Cosette, who was rather less dreamy than Marius, was gay, and that sufficed for Jean Valjean’s happiness. The thoughts which Cosette cherished, her tender preoccupations, Marius’ image which filled her heart, took away nothing from the incomparable purity of her beautiful, chaste, and smiling brow.
She was at the age when the virgin bears her love as the angel his lily. So Jean Valjean was at ease.
And then, when two lovers have come to an understanding, things always go well; the third party who might disturb their love is kept in a state of perfect blindness by a restricted number of precautions which are always the same in the case of all lovers.
Thus, Cosette never objected to any of Jean Valjean’s proposals. Did she want to take a walk? 'Yes, dear little father. ' Did she want to stay at home? Very good. Did he wish to pass the evening with Cosette? She was delighted.
As he always went to bed at ten o’clock, Marius did not come to the garden on such occasions until after that hour, when, from the street, he heard Cosette open the long glass door on the veranda. Of course, no one ever met Marius in the daytime.
Jean Valjean never even dreamed any longer that Marius was in existence. Only once, one morning, he chanced to say to Cosette: 'Why, you have whitewash on your back! ' On the previous evening, Marius, in a transport, had pushed Cosette against the wall.
Old Toussaint, who retired early, thought of nothing but her sleep, and was as ignorant of the whole matter as Jean Valjean. Marius never set foot in the house. When he was with Cosette, they hid themselves in a recess near the steps, in order that they might neither