Cosette Side by Side with the Stranger in the Dark — Les Misérables

Cosette, as we have said, is not frightened. The man accosts her. He speaks in a voice that is grave and almost bass. My child, what you are carrying is very heavy for you. Yes, sir. Give it to me, said the man. I will carry it for you. Cosette lets go of the bucket-handle. The man walks along beside her. It really is very heavy, he mutters between his teeth. How old are you, little one? Eight, sir. And have you come from far like this? From the spring in the forest. Are you going far? A good quarter of an hour's walk from here. The man says nothing for a moment, then remarks abruptly: So you have no mother. I don't know, answered the child. Before he has time to speak again, she adds: I don't think so. Other people have mothers. I have none. And after a silence: I think that I never had any.

The man halts. He sets the bucket on the ground, bends down, and places both hands on the child's shoulders, making an effort to look at her and to see her face in the dark. Cosette's thin and sickly face is vaguely outlined by the livid light in the sky. What is your name? said the man. Cosette. The man seems to have received an electric shock. He looks at her once more, then removes his hands from Cosette's shoulders, seizes the bucket, and sets out again. After a moment he inquires where she lives. At Montfermeil, if you know where that is. That is where we are going? Yes, sir. Who sent you at such an hour to get water in the forest? It was Madame Thenardier. The man resumes, in a voice which he strives to render indifferent, but in which there is nevertheless a singular tremor: What does your Madame Thenardier do? She is my mistress, said the child. She keeps the inn. The inn? said the man. Well, I am going to lodge there tonight. Show me the way. We are on the way there, said the child. The man walks tolerably fast. Cosette follows him without difficulty. She no longer feels any fatigue. From time to time she raises her eyes towards the man, with a sort of tranquillity and an indescribable confidence. She has never been taught to turn to Providence and to pray. Nevertheless, she feels within her something which resembles hope and joy, and which mounts towards heaven.

Is there no servant in Madame Thenardier's house? No, sir. Are you alone there? Yes, sir. Cosette lifts up her voice: That is to say, there are two little girls. Ponine and Zelma. This is the way the child simplifies the romantic names so dear to the female Thenardier. They are Madame Thenardier's young ladies, her daughters. And what do those girls do? Oh, said the child, they have beautiful dolls, things with gold in them, all full of affairs. They play. They amuse themselves. All day long? Yes, sir. And you? I? I work. All day long? The child raises her great eyes, in which hangs a tear, which is not visible because of the darkness, and replies gently: Yes, sir. Sometimes, when I have finished my work and they let me, I amuse myself, too. How do you amuse yourself? In the best way I can. They let me alone, but I have not many playthings. Ponine and Zelma will not let me play with their dolls. I have only a little lead sword, no longer than that. The child holds up her tiny finger. And it will not cut? Yes, sir, said the child. It cuts salad and the heads of flies. They reach the village. Cosette guides the stranger through the streets. They pass the bakeshop, but Cosette does not think of the bread which she has been ordered to fetch. The man has ceased to ply her with questions, and now preserves a gloomy silence. When they have left the church behind them, the man, on perceiving all the open-air booths, asks Cosette whether there is a fair going on. No, sir. It is Christmas. As they approach the tavern, Cosette timidly touches his arm. We are quite near the house. Will you let me take my bucket now? Why? If Madame sees that some one has carried it for me, she will beat me. The load is hers again. The door is already the house.