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scious, though in an indistinct fashion, that she possessed a
weapon. Women play with their beauty as children do with
a knife. They wound themselves.
The reader will recall Marius’ hesitations, his palpita-
tions, his terrors. He remained on his bench and did not
approach. This vexed Cosette. One day, she said to Jean
Valjean: ‘Father, let us stroll about a little in that direction.’
Seeing that Marius did not come to her, she went to him.
In such cases, all women resemble Mahomet. And then,
strange to say, the first symptom of true love in a young man
is timidity; in a young girl it is boldness. This is surprising,
and yet nothing is more simple. It is the two sexes tend-
ing to approach each other and assuming, each the other’s
qualities.
That day, Cosette’s glance drove Marius beside himself,
and Marius’ glance set Cosette to trembling. Marius went
away confident, and Cosette uneasy. From that day forth,
they adored each other.
The first thing that Cosette felt was a confused and pro-
found melancholy. It seemed to her that her soul had become
black since the day before. She no longer recognized it. The
whiteness of soul in young girls, which is composed of cold-
ness and gayety, resembles snow. It melts in love, which is
its sun.
Cosette did not know what love was. She had never heard
the word uttered in its terrestrial sense. On the books of
profane music which entered the convent, amour (love) was
replaced by tambour (drum) or pandour. This created enig-
mas which exercised the imaginations of the big girls, such