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Updated: May 10, 2025
Sadness, uneasiness, anxiety, depression, this fresh misfortune of being forced to flee by night, to seek a chance refuge in Paris for Cosette and himself, the necessity of regulating his pace to the pace of the child all this, without his being aware of it, had altered Jean Valjean's walk, and impressed on his bearing such senility, that the police themselves, incarnate in the person of Javert, might, and did in fact, make a mistake.
Fauchelevent, hardly able to draw his breath for trembling, seized his cold chisel and his hammer, and pried up the coffin lid. Jean Valjean's face appeared in the twilight; it was pale and his eyes were closed. Fauchelevent's hair rose upright on his head, he sprang to his feet, then fell back against the side of the grave, ready to swoon on the coffin. He stared at Jean Valjean.
Cosette continued to hold her tongue in the convent. It was quite natural that Cosette should think herself Jean Valjean's daughter. Moreover, as she knew nothing, she could say nothing, and then, she would not have said anything in any case. As we have just observed, nothing trains children to silence like unhappiness.
Certainly, if Jean Valjean had had a kingdom, he would have given it for a rope at that moment. All extreme situations have their lightning flashes which sometimes dazzle, sometimes illuminate us. Jean Valjean's despairing glance fell on the street lantern-post of the blind alley Genrot. At that epoch there were no gas-jets in the streets of Paris.
"Sir," resumed the child, "give me back my money." Jean Valjean dropped his head, and made no reply. The child began again, "My money, sir." Jean Valjean's eyes remained fixed on the earth. "My piece of money!" cried the child, "my white piece! my silver!" It seemed as though Jean Valjean did not hear him. The child grasped him by the collar of his blouse and shook him.
He thought that he had been traced and followed. Cosette had been obliged to give way. Both had arrived in the Rue de l'Homme Arme without opening their lips, and without uttering a word, each being absorbed in his own personal preoccupation; Jean Valjean so uneasy that he did not notice Cosette's sadness, Cosette so sad that she did not notice Jean Valjean's uneasiness.
I no longer see clearly, my children, I had still other things to say, but never mind. Think a little of me. Come still nearer. I die happy. Give me your dear and well-beloved heads, so that I may lay my hands upon them." Cosette and Marius fell on their knees, in despair, suffocating with tears, each beneath one of Jean Valjean's hands. Those august hands no longer moved.
It was arranged like a plot, they set out before daybreak, and these trips were so many small delights for Cosette. These innocent eccentricities please young people. Jean Valjean's inclination led him, as we have seen, to the least frequented spots, to solitary nooks, to forgotten places.
Besides, that insurgent was, obviously, a dead man, and, legally, death puts an end to pursuit. Jean Valjean was the load which weighed upon his spirit. Jean Valjean disconcerted him. All the axioms which had served him as points of support all his life long, had crumbled away in the presence of this man. Jean Valjean's generosity towards him, Javert, crushed him.
He did not hesitate, but took the one on the right. Why? Because that to the left ran towards a suburb, that is to say, towards inhabited regions, and the right branch towards the open country, that is to say, towards deserted regions. However, they no longer walked very fast. Cosette's pace retarded Jean Valjean's. He took her up and carried her again.
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