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She felt an anguish at her heart； which nothing relieved； and which augmented every day； she no longer knew whether it was winter or summer； whether it was raining or shining； whether the birds were singing； whether it was the season for dahlias or daisies； whether the Luxembourg was more charming than the Tuileries； whether the linen which the laundress brought home was starched too much or not enough； whether Toussaint had
done 〃her marketing〃 well or ill； and she remained dejected； absorbed； attentive to but a single thought； her eyes vague and staring as when one gazes by night at a black and fathomless spot where an apparition has vanished。
However； she did not allow Jean Valjean to perceive anything of this； except her pallor。
She still wore her sweet face for him。
This pallor sufficed but too thoroughly to trouble Jean Valjean。 Sometimes he asked her：
〃What is the matter with you？〃
She replied：
〃There is nothing the matter with me。〃
And after a silence； when she divined that he was sad also； she would add：
〃And you； fatheris there anything wrong with you？〃
〃With me？
Nothing；〃 said he。
These two beings who had loved each other so exclusively； and with so touching an affection； and who had lived so long for each other now suffered side by side； each on the other's account； without acknowledging it to each other； without anger towards each other； and with a smile。
BOOK THIRD。THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET
CHAPTER VIII
THE CHAIN…GANG
Jean Valjean was the more unhappy of the two。
Youth； even in its sorrows； always possesses its own peculiar radiance。
At times； Jean Valjean suffered so greatly that he became puerile。 It is the property of grief to cause the childish side of man to reappear。
He had an unconquerable conviction that Cosette was escaping from him。
He would have liked to resist； to retain her； to arouse her enthusiasm by some external and brilliant matter。 These ideas； puerile； as we have just said； and at the same time senile； conveyed to him； by their very childishness； a tolerably just notion of the influence of gold lace on the imaginations of young girls。 He once chanced to see a general on horseback； in full uniform； pass along the street； te Coutard； the mandant of Paris。 He envied that gilded man； what happiness it would be； he said to himself； if he could put on that suit which was an incontestable thing； and if Cosette could behold him thus； she would be dazzled； and when he had Cosette on his arm and passed the gates of the Tuileries； the guard would present arms to him； and that would suffice for Cosette； and would dispel her idea of looking at young men。
An unforeseen shock was added to these sad reflections。
In the isolated life which they led； and since they had e to dwell in the Rue Plumet； they had contracted one habit。 They sometimes took a pleasure trip to see the sun rise； a mild species of enjoyment which befits those who are entering life and those who are quitting it。
For those who love solitude； a walk in the early morning is equivalent to a stroll by night； with the cheerfulness of nature added。 The streets are deserted and the birds are singing。
Cosette； a bird herself； liked to rise early。
These matutinal excursions were planned on the preceding evening。
He proposed； and she agreed。 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。 There then existed； in the vicinity of the barriers of Paris； a sort of poor meadows； which were almost confounded with the city； where grew in summer sickly grain； and which； in autumn； after the harvest had been gathered； presented the appearance； not of having been reaped； but peeled。
Jean Valjean loved to haunt these fields。
Cosette was not bored there。
It meant solitude to him and liberty to her。
There； she became a little girl once more； she could run and almost play； she took off her hat； laid it on Jean Valjean's knees； and gathered bunches of flowers。 She gazed at the butterflies on the flowers； but did not catch them； gentleness and tenderness are born with love； and the young girl who cherishes within her breast a trembling and fragile ideal has mercy on the wing of a butterfly。
She wove garlands of poppies； which she placed on her head； and which； crossed and penetrated with sunlight； glowing until they flamed； formed for her rosy face a crown of burning embers。
Even after their life had grown sad； they kept up their custom of early strolls。
One morning in October； therefore； tempted by the serene perfection of the autumn of 1831； they set out； and found themselves at break of day near the Barriere du Maine。
It was not dawn； it was daybreak； a delightful and stern moment。
A few constellations here and there in the deep； pale azure； the earth all black； the heavens all white； a quiver amid the blades of grass； everywhere the mysterious chill of twilight。
A lark； which seemed mingled with the stars； was carolling at a prodigious height； and one would have declared that that hymn of pettiness calmed immensity。
In the East； the Valde…Grace projected its dark mass on the clear horizon with the sharpness of steel； Venus dazzlingly brilliant was rising behind that dome and had the air of a soul making its escape from a gloomy edifice。
All was peace and silence； there was no one on the road； a few stray laborers； of whom they caught barely a glimpse； were on their way to their work along the side…paths。
Jean Valjean was sitting in a cross…walk on some planks deposited at the gate of a timber…yard。 His face was turned towards the highway； his back towards the light； he had forgotten the sun which was on the point of rising； he had sunk into one of those profound absorptions in which the mind bees concentrated； which imprison even the eye； and which are equivalent to four walls。
There are meditations which may be called v