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 are
fantastic appearances that people affect."

No one caught a glimpse of the sinister foundation. And moreover, who
could have guessed such a thing? There are marshes of this description
in India. The water seems extraordinary, inexplicable, rippling though
there is no wind, and agitated where it should be calm. One gazes at the
surface of these causeless ebullitions; one does not perceive the hydra
which crawls on the bottom.

Many men have a secret monster in this same manner, a dragon which gnaws
them, a despair which inhabits their night. Such a man resembles
other men, he goes and comes. No one knows that he bears within him a
frightful parasitic pain with a thousand teeth, which lives within the
unhappy man, and of which he is dying. No one knows that this man is a
gulf. He is stagnant but deep. From time to time, a trouble of which
the onlooker understands nothing appears on his surface. A mysterious
wrinkle is formed, then vanishes, then re-appears; an air-bubble rises
and bursts. It is the breathing of the unknown beast.

Certain strange habits: arrivi