When she meditated in the evening, before falling asleep,
as she had not a very clear idea that she was Jean Valjean's daughter,
and that he was her father, she fancied that the soul of her mother had
passed into that good man and had come to dwell near her.

When he was seated, she leaned her cheek against his white hair, and
dropped a silent tear, saying to herself: "Perhaps this man is my
mother."

Cosette, although this is a strange statement to make, in the profound
ignorance of a girl brought up in a convent,--maternity being also
absolutely unintelligible to virginity,--had ended by fancying that she
had had as little mother as possible. She did not even know her mother's
name. Whenever she asked Jean Valjean, Jean Valjean remained silent. If
she repeated her question, he responded with a smile. Once she insisted;
the smile ended in a tear.

This silence on the part of Jean Valjean covered Fantine with darkness.

Was it prudence? Was it respect? Was it a fear that he should deliver
this name to the hazards of another memory than his own?

So long as Cosette had been small, Jean Valjean had been willing to talk
to her of her mother; when she became a young girl, it was impossible
for him to do so. It seemed to him that he no longer dared. Was it
because of Cosette? Was it because of Fantine? He felt a certain
religious horror at letting that shadow enter Cosette's thought; and of
placing a third in their destiny. The more sacred this shade was to him,
the more did it seem that it was to be feared. He thought of Fantine,
and felt himself overwhelmed with silence.

Through the darkness, he vaguely perceived something which appeared
to have its finger on its lips. Had all the modesty which had been
in Fantine, and which had violently quitted her during her lifetime,
returned to rest upon her after her death, to watch in indignation over
the peace of that dead woman, and in its shyness, to keep her in her
grave? Was Jean Valjean unconsciously submitting to the pressure? We
who believe in death, are not among the number who will reject this
mysterious explanation.

Hence the impossibility of uttering, even for Cosette, that name of
Fantine.

One day Cosette said to him:--

"Father, I saw my mother in a dream last night. She had two big wings.
My mother must have been almost a saint during her life."

"Through martyrdom," replied Jean Valjean.

However, Jean Valjean was happy.

When Cosette went out with