1.C.4.2. A NEST FOR OWL AND A WARBLER
IT was in front of this Gorbeau house that Jean Valjean
halted. Like wild birds, he had chosen this desert place to
construct his nest.
He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, drew out a sort of a
pass-key, opened the door, entered, closed it again carefully,
and ascended the staircase, still carrying Cosette.
At the top of the stairs he drew from his pocket another
key, with which he opened another door. The chamber which
he entered, and which he closed again instantly, was a kind of
moderately spacious attic, furnished with a mattress laid on
the floor, a table, and several chairs; a stove in which a fire
was burning, and whose embers were visible, stood in one
corner. A lantern on the boulevard cast a vague light into this
poor room. At the extreme end there was a dressing-room
with a folding bed; Jean Valjean carried the child to this bed
and laid her down there without waking her.
He struck a match and lighted a candle. All this was prepared
beforehand on the table, and, as he had done on the
previous evening, he began to scrutinize Cosette's face with a
gaze full of ecstasy, in which the expression of kindness and
tenderness almost amounted to aberration. The little girl,
with that tranquil confidence which belongs only to extreme
strength and extreme weakness, had fallen asleep without
knowing with whom she was, and continued to sleep without
knowing where she was.
Jean Valjean bent down and kissed that child's hand.
Nine months before he had kissed the hand of the mother,
who had also just fallen asleep.
The same sad, piercing, religious sentiment filled his heart.
He knelt beside Cosette's bed.
lt was broad daylight, and the child still slept. A wan ray
of the December sun penetrated the window of the attic and
lay upon the ceiling in long threads of light and shade. All
at once a heavily laden carrier's cart, which was passing along
the boulevard, shook the frail bed, like a clap of thunder, and
made it quiver from top to bottom.
"Yes, madame!" cried Cosette, waking with a start, "here
I am! here I am!"
And she sprang out of bed, her eyes still half shut with the
heaviness of sleep, extending her arms towards the corner of
the wall.
"Ah! mon Dieu, my broom!" said she.
She opened her eyes wide now, and beheld the smiling
countenance of Jean Valjean.
"Ah! so it is true!" said the child. "Good morning,
Monsieur."
Children accept joy and happiness instantly and familiarly,
being themselves by nature joy and happiness.
Cosette caught sight of Catherine at the foot of her bed, and
took possession of her, and, as she played, she put a hundred
questions to Jean Valjean. Where was she? Was Paris very
large? Was Madame Thenardier very far away? Was she to
go back? etc., etc. All at once she exclaimed, "How pretty
it is here!"
It was a frightful hole, but she felt free.
"Must I sweep?" she resumed at last.
"Play!" said Jean Valjean.
The day passed thus. Cosette, without troubling herself to
understand anything, was inexpressibly happy with that doll
and that kind man.