ted him as they trusted God. We find it hard to be patient with
Marius, and are not patient with Cossette. Her selfishness is not to
be condoned. Her contrition and her tears come too late. Though
Valjean forgives her, we do not forgive her. She deserves no
forgiveness. Marius's honor was of the amateur order, lacking depth
and breadth. He was superficial, judging by hearing rather than by
eyes and heart. We have not patience to linger with his wife and him,
but push past them to the hero spirit, whom they have not eyes to see
nor hearts to understand. Jean Valjean misjudged, and by Marius and
Cossette! Impossible! Javert may do that; Fantine, not knowing him,
may do that, but once knowing him she had as lief distrusted day to
bring the light as to have distrusted him. Misjudged, and by those he
loved most, suffered for, more than died for! Poor Valjean! This
wakes our pity and our tears. Before, we have watched him, and have
felt the tug of battle on him; now the mists fall, and we put our hands
before our eyes and weep. This saint of God misjudged by those for
whom he lives! Yet this is no solitary pathos. Were all hearts'
history known, we should know how many died misjudged. All Jean
Valjean does has been misinterpreted. We distrust more and more
circumstantial evidence. It is hideous. No jury ought to convict a
man on evidence of circumstances. Too many tragedies have been enacted
because of such. Marius thought he was discerning and of a sensitive
honor. He thought it evident that Jean Valjean had slain Javert, and
had slain Monsieur Madeleine, whose fortune he has offered as
Cossette's marriage portion. Poor Jean Valjean! You a murderer, a
marauder--you! Marius acts with frigid honor. Valjean will not live
with Marius and Cossette, being too sensitive therefor, perceiving
himself distrusted by Marius, but comes to warm his hands and heart at
the hearth of Cossette's presence; and he is stung when he sees no fire
in the reception-room. The omission he can not misinterpret. He goes
again, and the chairs are removed. Marius may have honor, but his
honor is cruel, like an inquisitor with rack and thumbscrew; and then
Jean Valjean goes no more, but day by day suns his heart by going far
enough to look at the house where Cossette is--no more; then his eyes
are feverish to catch sight of her habitation as parched lips drink at
desert springs. Misjudged! O, that is harder to bear than all