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Updated: April 30, 2025
A year passed; then another. People in the village said: "Those Thenardiers are good people. They are not rich, and yet they are bringing up a poor child who was abandoned on their hands!" They thought that Cosette's mother had forgotten her.
If perpetual motion is impossible, can perpetual self-sacrifice be exacted? The first step is nothing, it is the last which is difficult. What was the Champmathieu affair in comparison with Cosette's marriage and of that which it entailed? What is a re-entrance into the galleys, compared to entrance into the void? Oh, first step that must be descended, how sombre art thou!
Moreover, from the mere inspection of Cosette's toilet, a woman would have recognized the fact that she had no mother. Certain little proprieties, certain special conventionalities, were not observed by Cosette. A mother, for instance, would have told her that a young girl does not dress in damask.
Then his venerable, white head fell forward on the bed, that stoical old heart broke, his face was engulfed, so to speak, in Cosette's garments, and if any one had passed up the stairs at that moment, he would have heard frightful sobs. The old and formidable struggle, of which we have already witnessed so many phases, began once more. Jacob struggled with the angel but one night.
The same sad, piercing, religious sentiment filled his heart. He knelt beside Cosette's bed. lt was broad daylight, and the child still slept. A wan ray of the December sun penetrated the window of the attic and lay upon the ceiling in long threads of light and shade.
So Henry went forth with Mimisse at the end of a strap. In the Boulevard de Clichy who should accost him but Tom, whom he had left asleep as usual at the hotel! 'What dog is that? Tom asked. 'Cosette's, said Henry, unsuccessfully trying to assume a demeanour at once natural and tranquil. 'My young friend, said Tom, 'I perceive that it will be necessary to look after you.
Hope in a child who has never known anything but despair is a sweet and touching thing. There was nothing in this wooden shoe. The stranger fumbled in his waistcoat, bent over and placed a louis d'or in Cosette's shoe. Then he regained his own chamber with the stealthy tread of a wolf.
At that moment, a door at the other end of the drawing-room opened gently half way, and in the opening Cosette's head appeared. They saw only her sweet face, her hair was in charming disorder, her eyelids were still swollen with sleep.
He opened the valise and drew from it Cosette's outfit. He spread it out on his bed. The Bishop's candlesticks were in their place on the chimney-piece. He took from a drawer two wax candles and put them in the candlesticks. Then, although it was still broad daylight, it was summer, he lighted them.
This was not a serious matter; and he had not allowed any one to trouble himself about it, nor to dress it, nor even to see his hurt, not even Cosette. Nevertheless, this had forced him to swathe his hand in a linen bandage, and to carry his arm in a sling, and had prevented his signing. M. Gillenormand, in his capacity of Cosette's supervising-guardian, had supplied his place.
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