While this sort of a dog with a human face was mounting guard over the gate, and while the six ruffians were yielding to a girl, Marius was by Cosette's side. Never had the sky been more studded with stars and more charming, the trees more trembling, the odour of the grass more penetrating; never had the birds fallen asleep among the leaves with a sweeter noise; never had Marius been more captivated, more happy, more ecstatic. But he had found Cosette sad. Cosette had been weeping. Her eyes were red. This was the first cloud in that wonderful dream. My father told me this morning to hold myself in readiness, because he has business, and we may go away from here. Marius shivered from head to foot. When one is at the end of one's life, to die means to go away; when one is at the beginning of it, to go away means to die. For the last six weeks Marius had little by little, slowly, by degrees, taken possession of Cosette each day. He possessed her smile, her breath, her perfume, the profound radiance of her blue eyes, the charming mark which she had on her neck, all her thoughts. Therefore he possessed all Cosette's dreams. He gazed upon and adored the things that she wore as sacred objects of which he was the master. Beside Cosette he felt himself beside his own property. To have Cosette, to possess Cosette, this, to him, was not to be distinguished from breathing. It was in the midst of this faith, of this intoxication, of this virgin possession, that these words, We are going away, fell suddenly, at a blow, and that the harsh voice of reality cried to him: Cosette is not yours.
Marius awoke. For six weeks he had been living outside of life; those words, going away, caused him to re-enter it harshly. He found not a word to say. Cosette merely felt that his hand was very cold. This morning my father told me to settle all my little affairs and to hold myself in readiness, that he would give me his linen to put in a trunk, that we were to go away, that all is to be ready in a week from now, and that we might go to England. But this is outrageous, exclaimed Marius. It is certain that, at that moment, no abuse of power, no violence, not one of the abominations of the worst tyrants, could have equalled this in atrocity: Fauchelevent taking his daughter off to England because he had business there. Cosette, shall you go? If my father goes. So, you will go? Cosette took Marius' hand, and pressed it without replying. Very well, said Marius, then I will go elsewhere. She turned so pale that her face shone white through the gloom. How silly we are. Marius, I have an idea. If we go away, do you go too. I will tell you where. Come and join me wherever I am. Marius was now a thoroughly roused man. He had fallen back into reality. Go away with you. Are you mad. Why, I should have to have money, and I have none. I owe more than ten louis to Courfeyrac, one of my friends with whom you are not acquainted. I have an old hat which is not worth three francs, I have a coat which lacks buttons in front, my shirt is all ragged, my elbows are torn, my boots let in the water; for the last six weeks I have not thought about it. You only see me at night, and you give me your love; if you were to see me in the daytime, you would give me a sou. I haven't enough to pay for a passport. He threw himself against a tree which was close at hand, erect, his brow pressed close to the bark, feeling neither the wood which flayed his skin, nor the fever which was throbbing in his temples, and there he stood motionless, on the point of falling, like the statue of despair. He remained a long time thus. At last he turned round. He heard behind him a faint stifled noise, which was sweet yet sad. It was Cosette sobbing. She had been weeping for more than two hours beside Marius as he meditated. He came to her, fell at her knees, and slowly prostrating himself, he took the tip of her foot which peeped out from beneath her robe, and kissed it. Do not weep. Not when I may be going away, and you cannot come. Do you love me? She replied, sobbing, by that word from paradise which is never more charming than amid tears: I adore you. Cosette, I have never given my word of honour to any one, because my word of honour terrifies me. I feel that my father is by my side. Well, I give you my most sacred word of honour, that if you go away I shall die. In the tone with which he uttered these words there lay a melancholy so solemn and so tranquil, that Cosette trembled. She felt that chill which is produced by a true and gloomy thing as it passes by. The shock made her cease weeping.
Now, listen, said he, do not expect me tomorrow. Do not expect me until the day after tomorrow. Let us sacrifice one day in order to gain our whole lives, perhaps. And Marius added in a low tone and in an aside: He is a man who never changes his habits, and he has never received any one except in the evening. Of what man are you speaking? I said nothing. Now that I think of it, you ought to know my address: something might happen, one never knows; I live with that friend named Courfeyrac, Rue de la Verrerie, No. 16. He searched in his pocket, pulled out his penknife, and with the blade he wrote on the plaster of the wall: 16 Rue de la Verrerie. This is my idea: that it is impossible that God should mean to part us. Wait; expect me the day after tomorrow. I am going to try something. Then I will pray to God and I will think of you here, so that you may be successful. I shall pass the evening tomorrow in singing that music from Euryanthe that you love, and that you came one evening to listen to, outside my shutters. On the stroke of nine, I shall be in the garden. And I also. And without having uttered it, moved by the same thought, they fell into each other's arms, without perceiving that their lips met while their uplifted eyes, overflowing with rapture and full of tears, gazed upon the stars. When Marius went forth, the street was deserted. This was the moment when Eponine was following the ruffians to the boulevard. While Marius had been dreaming with his head pressed to the tree, an idea had crossed his mind; an idea, alas, that he himself judged to be senseless and impossible. He had come to a desperate decision.
