ve done it. My chamber is left on my hands. My
lodger sends me into bankruptcy. I order a nice little dinner of
Nicolette. We will have nothing to do with your dinner, Madame. And my
father Fauchelevent wants me to call him 'Monsieur Jean,' and to receive
him in a frightful, old, ugly cellar, where the walls have beards, and
where the crystal consists of empty bottles, and the curtains are of
spiders' webs! You are singular, I admit, that is your style, but people
who get married are granted a truce. You ought not to have begun being
singular again instantly. So you are going to be perfectly contented in
your abominable Rue de l'Homme Arme. I was very desperate indeed there,
that I was. What have you against me? You cause me a great deal of
grief. Fi!"

And, becoming suddenly serious, she gazed intently at Jean Valjean and
added:

"Are you angry with me because I am happy?"

Ingenuousness sometimes unconsciously penetrates deep. This question,
which was simple for Cosette, was profound for Jean Valjean. Cosette had
meant to scratch, and she lacerated.

Jean Valjean turned pale.

He remained for a moment without replying, then, with an inexpressible
intonation, and speaking to himself, he murmured:

"Her happiness was the object of my life. Now God may sign my dismissal.
Cosette, thou art happy; my day is over."

"Ah, you have said thou to me!" exclaimed Cosette.

And she sprang to his neck.

Jean Valjean, in bewilderment, strained her wildly to his breast. It
almost seemed to him as though he were taking her back.

"Thanks, father!" said Cosette.

This enthusiastic impulse was on the point of becoming poignant for Jean
Valjean. He gently removed Cosette's arms, and took his hat.

"Well?" said Cosette.

"I leave you, Madame, they are waiting for you."

And, from the threshold, he added:

"I have said thou to you. Tell your husband that this shall not happen
again. Pardon me."

Jean Valjean quitted the room, leaving Cosette stupefied at this
enigmatical farewell.

CHAPTER II--ANOTHER STEP BACKWARDS

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