tuation which presented itself
to him, to the point of addressing that man almost like a person who was
angry with him for this avowal.

"But why," he exclaimed, "do you tell me all this? Who forces you to
do so? You could have kept your secret to yourself. You are neither
denounced, nor tracked nor pursued. You have a reason for wantonly
making such a revelation. Conclude. There is something more. In what
connection do you make this confession? What is your motive?"

"My motive?" replied Jean Valjean in a voice so low and dull that one
would have said that he was talking to himself rather than to Marius.
"From what motive, in fact, has this convict just said 'I am a convict'?
Well, yes! the motive is strange. It is out of honesty. Stay, the
unfortunate point is that I have a thread in my heart, which keeps me
fast. It is when one is old that that sort of thread is particularly
solid. All life falls in ruin around one; one resists. Had I been able
to tear out that thread, to break it, to undo the knot or to cut it, to
go far away, I should have been safe. I had only to go away; there are
diligences in the Rue Bouloy; you are happy; I am going. I have tried
to break that thread, I have jerked at it, it would not break, I tore my
heart with it. Then I said: 'I cannot live anywhere else than here.' I
must stay. Well, yes, you are right, I am a fool, why not simply
remain here? You offer me a chamber in this house, Madame Pontmercy is
sincerely attached to me, she said to the arm-chair: 'Stretch out your
arms to him,' your grandfather demands nothing better than to have me, I
suit him, we shall live together, and take our meals in common, I shall
give Cosette my arm . . . Madame Pontmercy, excuse me, it is a habit, we
shall have but one roof, one table, one fire, the same chimney-corner
in winter, the same promenade in summer, that is joy, that is happiness,
that is everything. We shall live as one family. One family!"

At that word, Jean Valjean became wild. He folded his arms, glared at
the floor beneath his feet as though he would have excavated an abyss
therein, and his voice suddenly rose in thundering tones:

"As one family! No. I belong to no family. I do not belong to yours.
I do not belong to any family of men. In houses where people are among
themselves, I am superfluous. There are families, but there is nothing
of the sort for me. I am an unlucky wretch; I am left outside. Did I
have a father and mother? I alm