eaned out more than half-way, while Basque
and Nicolette held him behind, and shouted:--

"Marius! Marius! Marius! Marius!"

But Marius could no longer hear him, for at that moment he was turning
the corner of the Rue Saint-Louis.

The octogenarian raised his hands to his temples two or three times
with an expression of anguish, recoiled tottering, and fell back into an
arm-chair, pulseless, voiceless, tearless, with quivering head and lips
which moved with a stupid air, with nothing in his eyes and nothing
any longer in his heart except a gloomy and profound something which
resembled night.

BOOK NINTH.--WHITHER ARE THEY GOING?

CHAPTER I--JEAN VALJEAN

That same day, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, Jean Valjean was
sitting alone on the back side of one of the most solitary slopes in the
Champ-de-Mars. Either from prudence, or from a desire to meditate, or
simply in consequence of one of those insensible changes of habit which
gradually introduce themselves into the existence of every one, he now
rarely went out with Cosette. He had on his workman's waistcoat,
and trousers of gray linen; and his long-visored cap concealed his
countenance.

He was calm and happy now beside Cosette; that which had, for a time,
alarmed and troubled him had been dissipated; but for the last week or
two, anxieties of another nature had come up. One day, while walking
on the boulevard, he had caught sight of Thenardier; thanks to his
disguise, Thenardier had not recognized him; but since that day, Jean
Valjean had seen him repeatedly, and he was now certain that Thenardier
was prowling about in their neighborhood.

This had been sufficient to make him come to a decision.

Moreover, Paris was not tranquil: political troubles presented this
inconvenient feature, for any one who had anything to conceal in his
life, that the police had grown very uneasy and very suspicious, and
that while seeking to ferret out a man like Pepin or Morey, they might
very readily discover a man like Jean Valjean.

Jean Valjean had made up his mind to quit Paris, and even France, and go
over to England.

He had warned Cosette. He wished to set out before the end of the week.

He had seated himself on the slope in the Champ-de-Mars, turning over
all sorts of thoughts in his mind,--Thenardier, the police, the journey,
and the difficulty of procuring a passport.

He was troubled from all these points of view.

Last of all, an inexpl