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into one of those profound absorptions in which the mind
becomes concentrated, which imprison even the eye, and
which are equivalent to four walls. There are meditations
which may be called vertical; when one is at the bottom of
them, time is required to return to earth. Jean Valjean had
plunged into one of these reveries. He was thinking of Co-
sette, of the happiness that was possible if nothing came
between him and her, of the light with which she filled his
life, a light which was but the emanation of her soul. He was
almost happy in his revery. Cosette, who was standing be-
side him, was gazing at the clouds as they turned rosy.
All at once Cosette exclaimed: ‘Father, I should think
some one was coming yonder.’ Jean Valjean raised his eyes.
Cosette was right. The causeway which leads to the an-
cient Barriere du Maine is a prolongation, as the reader
knows, of the Rue de Sevres, and is cut at right angles by
the inner boulevard. At the elbow of the causeway and the
boulevard, at the spot where it branches, they heard a noise
which it was difficult to account for at that hour, and a sort
of confused pile made its appearance. Some shapeless thing
which was coming from the boulevard was turning into the
road.
It grew larger, it seemed to move in an orderly manner,
though it was bristling and quivering; it seemed to be a vehi-
cle, but its load could not be distinctly made out. There were
horses, wheels, shouts; whips were cracking. By degrees the
outlines became fixed, although bathed in shadows. It was
a vehicle, in fact, which had just turned from the boulevard
into the highway, and which was directing its course to-