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was a robin redbreast which had made her nest in a hole in
the wall, and a horrible cat ate her. My poor, pretty, little
robin red-breast which used to put her head out of her win-
dow and look at me! I cried over it. I should have liked to kill
the cat. But now nobody cries any more. Everybody laughs,
everybody is happy. You are going to come with us. How de-
lighted grandfather will be! You shall have your plot in the
garden, you shall cultivate it, and we shall see whether your
strawberries are as fine as mine. And, then, I shall do every-
thing that you wish, and then, you will obey me prettily.’
Jean Valjean listened to her without hearing her. He
heard the music of her voice rather than the sense of her
words; one of those large tears which are the sombre pearls
of the soul welled up slowly in his eyes.
He murmured:
‘The proof that God is good is that she is here.’
‘Father!’ said Cosette.
Jean Valjean continued:
‘It is quite true that it would be charming for us to live
together. Their trees are full of birds. I would walk with Co-
sette. It is sweet to be among living people who bid each
other ‘good-day,’ who call to each other in the garden. Peo-
ple see each other from early morning. We should each
cultivate our own little corner. She would make me eat her
strawberries. I would make her gather my roses. That would
be charming. Only ...’
He paused and said gently:
‘It is a pity.’
The tear did not fall, it retreated, and Jean Valjean re-