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Marius, let us insist on this point, was under the shadow of the great, dark wings which are spread over those in the death agony. He felt that he had entered the tomb, it seemed to him that he was already on the other side of the wall, and he no longer beheld the faces of the living except with the eyes of one dead. How did M. Fauchelevent come there? Why was he there?
For M. Fauchelevent, independent gentleman, belonged to the national guard; he had not been able to escape through the fine meshes of the census of 1831.
"No." "What then?" "A living person." "What person?" "Me!" said Jean Valjean. Fauchelevent, who was seated, sprang up as though a bomb had burst under his chair. "You!" "Why not?" Jean Valjean gave way to one of those rare smiles which lighted up his face like a flash from heaven in the winter.
What breathed from M. Fauchelevent? distrust. What did Jean Valjean inspire? confidence. In the mysterious balance of this Jean Valjean which the pensive Marius struck, he admitted the active principle, he admitted the passive principle, and he tried to reach a balance. But all this went on as in a storm.
He had hired the house under the name of M. Fauchelevent, independent gentleman. In all that has been related heretofore, the reader has, doubtless, been no less prompt than Thenardier to recognize Jean Valjean. Why had Jean Valjean quitted the convent of the Petit-Picpus? What had happened? Nothing had happened.
Jean Valjean had placed her near the fire. At the moment when Fauchelevent entered, Jean Valjean was pointing out to her the vintner's basket on the wall, and saying to her, "Listen attentively to me, my little Cosette. We must go away from this house, but we shall return to it, and we shall be very happy here. The good man who lives here is going to carry you off on his back in that.
He placed himself between the grave and the grave-digger, crossed his arms and said: "I am the one to pay!" The grave-digger stared at him in amazement, and replied: "What's that, peasant?" Fauchelevent repeated: "I am the one who pays!" "What?" "For the wine." "What wine?" "That Argenteuil wine." "Where is the Argenteuil?" "At the Bon Coing." "Go to the devil!" said the grave-digger.
"A request." "Very well, speak." Goodman Fauchelevent, the ex-notary, belonged to the category of peasants who have assurance. A certain clever ignorance constitutes a force; you do not distrust it, and you are caught by it. Fauchelevent had been a success during the something more than two years which he had passed in the convent.
"You know, Fauchelevent, what you have said: 'Mother Crucifixion is dead. and I add: 'and Father Madeleine is buried." "Ah! good, you can laugh, you are not speaking seriously." "Very seriously, I must get out of this place." "Certainly." "l have told you to find a basket, and a cover for me also." "Well?" "The basket will be of pine, and the cover a black cloth."
And then, Cosette, in whom the woman was beginning to dawn, was delighted to be a Baroness. "Monsieur le Baron?" repeated Basque. "I will go and see. I will tell him that M. Fauchelevent is here." "No. Do not tell him that it is I. Tell him that some one wishes to speak to him in private, and mention no name." "Ah!" ejaculated Basque. "I wish to surprise him."
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