7
COSETTE SIDE BY SIDE WITH THE UNKNOWN, IN THE DARKNESS
COSETTE, we have said, was not afraid.
The man spoke to her. His voice was serious, and was almost a whisper.
“My child, what you are carrying there is very heavy for you.”
Cosette raised her head and answered:
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Give it to me,” the man continued, “I will carry it for you.”
Cosette let go of the bucket. The man walked along with her.
“It is very heavy, indeed,” said he to himself between his teeth. Then he added:
“Little girl, how old are you?”
“Eight years, monsieur.”
“And have you come far in this way?”
“From the spring in the woods.”
“And are you going far?”
“A good quarter of an hour from here.”
The man remained a moment without speaking, then he said abruptly:
“You have no mother then?”
“I don’t know,” answered the child.
Before the man had had time to say a word, she added:
“I don’t believe I have. All the rest have one. For my part, I have none.”
And after a silence, she added:
“I believe I never had any.”
The man stopped, put the bucket on the ground, stooped down and placed his hands upon the child’s shoulders, making an effort to look at her and see her face in the darkness.
The thin, puny face of Cosette was vaguely outlined in the livid light of the sky.
“What is your name?” said the man.
“Cosette.”
It seemed as if the man had an electric shock. He looked at her again, then letting go of her shoulders, took up the bucket, and walked on.
A moment after, he asked:
“Little girl, where do you live?”
“At Montfermeil, if you know it.”
“It is there that we are going?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
He made another pause, then he began:
“Who is it that has sent you out into the woods after water at this time of night?”
“Madame Thénardier.”
The man resumed with a tone of voice which he tried to render indifferent, but in which there was nevertheless a singular tremor:
“What does she do, your Madame Thénardier?”
“She is my mistress,” said the child. “She keeps the tavern.”
“The tavern,” said the man. “Well, I am going there to lodge to-night. Show me the way.”
“We are going there,” said the child.
The man walked rather fast. Cosette followed him without difficulty. She felt fatigue no more. From time to time, she raised her eyes towards this man with a sort of tranquillity and inexpressible confidence. She had never been taught to turn towards Providence and to pray. However, she felt in her bosom something that resembled hope and joy, and which rose towards heaven.
A few minutes passed. The man spoke:
“Is there no servant at Madame Thénardier’s?”
“No, monsieur.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
There was another interval of silence. Cosette raised her voice:
“That is, there are two little girls.”
“What little girls?”
“Ponine and Zelma.”
The child simplified in this way the romantic names dear to the mother.
“What are Ponine and Zelma?”
“They are Madame Thénardier’s young ladies, you might say her daughters.”
“And what do they do?”
“Oh!” said the child, “they have beautiful dolls, things which there’s gold in; all kinds of stuff. They play, they amuse themselves.”
“All day long?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“And you?”
“Me! I work.”
“All day long?”
The child raised her large eyes in which there was a tear, which could not be seen in the darkness, and answered softly:
“Yes, monsieur.”
She continued after an interval of silence:
“Sometimes, when I have finished my work and they are willing, I amuse myself also.”
“How do you amuse yourself?” “The best I can. They let me alone. But I have not many playthings. Ponine and Zelma are not willing for me to play with their dolls. I have only a little lead sword, no longer than that.”
The child showed her little finger.
“And which does not cut?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said the child, “it cuts lettuce and flies’ heads.”
They reached the village; Cosette guided the stranger through the streets. They passed by the bakery, but Cosette did not think of the bread she was to have brought back. The man questioned her no more, and now maintained a mournful silence. When they had passed the church, the man, seeing all these booths in the street, asked Cosette:
“Is it fair-time here?”
“No, monsieur, it is Christmas.”
As they drew near the tavern, Cosette timidly touched his arm:
“Monsieur?”
“What, my child?”
“Here we are close by the house.”
“Well?”
“Will you let me take the bucket now?”
“What for?”
“Because, if madame sees that anybody brought it for me, she will beat me.”
The man gave her the bucket. A moment after they were at the door of the tavern.