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content, I will not scold you.’
And again she offered him her brow.
Jean Valjean dropped a kiss upon that brow whereon
rested a celestial gleam.
‘Smi le.’
Jean Valjean obeyed. It was the smile of a spectre.
‘Now, defend me against my husband.’
‘Cosette! ...’ ejaculated Marius.
‘Get angry, father. Say that I must stay. You can certainly
talk before me. So you think me very silly. What you say
is astonishing! business, placing money in a bank a great
matter truly. Men make mysteries out of nothing. I am very
pretty this morning. Look at me, Marius.’
And with an adorable shrug of the shoulders, and an in-
describably exquisite pout, she glanced at Marius.
‘I love you!’ said Marius.
‘I adore you!’ said Cosette.
And they fell irresistibly into each other’s arms.
‘Now,’ said Cosette, adjusting a fold of her dressing-
gown, with a triumphant little grimace, ‘I shall stay.’
‘No, not that,’ said Marius, in a supplicating tone. ‘We
have to finish something.’
‘Still no?’
Marius assumed a grave tone:
‘I assure you, Cosette, that it is impossible.’
‘Ah! you put on your man’s voice, sir. That is well, I
go. You, father, have not upheld me. Monsieur my father,
monsieur my husband, you are tyrants. I shall go and tell
grandpapa. If you think that I am going to return and talk