On the following day, at the same hour, Jean Valjean came. Cosette asked him no questions, was no longer astonished, no longer exclaimed that she was cold, no longer spoke of the drawing-room, she avoided saying either 'father' or 'Monsieur Jean. ' She allowed herself to be addressed as you.
She allowed herself to be called Madame. Only, her joy had undergone a certain diminution. She would have been sad, if sadness had been possible to her.
It is probable that she had had with Marius one of those conversations in which the beloved man says what he pleases, explains nothing, and satisfies the beloved woman. The curiosity of lovers does not extend very far beyond their own love. The lower room had made a little toilet.
Basque had suppressed the bottles, and Nicolette the spiders. All the days which followed brought Jean Valjean at the same hour. He came every day, because he had not the strength to take Marius’ words otherwise than literally.
Marius arranged matters so as to be absent at the hours when Jean Valjean came. The house grew accustomed to the novel ways of M. Fauchelevent. Toussaint helped in this direction: 'Monsieur has always been like that,' she repeated. The grandfather issued this decree:—'He’s an original.
' And all was said. Moreover, at the age of ninety-six, no bond is any longer possible, all is merely juxtaposition; a newcomer is in the way. There is no longer any room; all habits are acquired. M. Fauchelevent, M.
Tranchelevent, Father Gillenormand asked nothing better than to be relieved from 'that gentleman. ' He added:—'Nothing is more common than those originals. They do all sorts of queer things. They have no reason. The Marquis de Canaples was still worse.
He bought a palace that he might lodge in the garret. These