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a garden, the Rue Plumet. I lived in a little back court-yard,
whence I could hear her piano. That was my life. We never
left each other. That lasted for nine years and some months.
I was like her own father, and she was my child. I do not
know whether you understand, Monsieur Pontmercy, but
to go away now, never to see her again, never to speak to her
again, to no longer have anything, would be hard. If you do
not disapprove of it, I will come to see Cosette from time to
time. I will not come often. I will not remain long. You shall
give orders that I am to be received in the little waiting-
room. On the ground floor. I could enter perfectly well by
the back door, but that might create surprise perhaps, and it
would be better, I think, for me to enter by the usual door.
Truly, sir, I should like to see a little more of Cosette. As
rarely as you please. Put yourself in my place, I have nothing
left but that. And then, we must be cautious. If I no longer
come at all, it would produce a bad effect, it would be con-
sidered singular. What I can do, by the way, is to come in
the afternoon, when night is beginning to fall.’
‘You shall come every evening,’ said Marius, ‘and Co-
sette will be waiting for you.’
‘You are kind, sir,’ said Jean Valjean.
Marius saluted Jean Valjean, happiness escorted despair
to the door, and these two men parted.