Marius remained motionless on the sofa in his grandfather’s waiting room. When the doctor arrived, he asked that a cot be set up so he could better examine the young man. Miraculously, Marius had not suffered any major internal injuries. One bullet apparently had been slowed by impacting his leather pouch, and was then diverted toward his side. It had made a hideous laceration along his ribs, but it was not terribly deep and therefore was not life threatening. Yet the long underground trek through the sewer had put pressure on his fractured collarbone, which by this point was completely severed and quite serious. His arms had been slashed numerous times by swords and were covered with cuts. And although he had a number of wounds on his head, not a single cut was serious enough to disfigure his face.
As the doctor cleaned Marius’s face, a door opened at the other end of the room and the tall, pale figure of the young man’s grandfather walked toward the cot. The doctor had stripped Marius to the waist, and he lay motionless, with his eyes closed and his mouth open. His skin had a waxen whiteness, and his body was covered with slash marks, many of which were still bleeding. His grandfather began to tremble but finally managed to mutter, “Marius!”
Basque, Monsieur Gillenormand’s doorman, began to explain, “Sir, your grandson has just been brought here. He was at the barricades, and …”
“He is dead!” the old man shrieked. “The rascal!” Then, attempting to regain his composure, he looked toward the doctor and said, “He is dead, is he not?” Before the doctor could answer, however, Marius slowly opened his eyes. As he fixed his still blurry gaze on his grandfather, Monsieur Gillenormand cried, “Marius! My beloved child! You’re alive!”
Then the old man fainted and fell.
For many weeks it was as though Marius was neither dead nor alive. He ran a high fever and was delirious, simply repeating Cosette’s name over and over—night after night. Each day, and sometimes twice a day, a well-dressed gentleman with white hair—as described by the porter—inquired about the wounded young man and left a package of clean linen bandages.
Finally, on September 7, 1832, exactly four months after Marius had been wounded, the doctor told Monsieur Gillenormand his grandson was out of danger. However, his convalescence was not complete, for the young man would still be required to remain stretched out on a sofa for another two months, primarily due to his broken collarbone.
The news Marius was out of danger nearly made his grandfather delirious himself—delirious with happiness. That same day he gave his porter a gift of three Louis, which was out of character for him. And that evening, Basque, watching the old man through a half-open door, saw Monsieur Gillenormand kneeling beside a chair in prayer. He watched for some time to be sure he was praying, for up to that point the old man had never believed in God.
Once Marius’s fever and delirium had subsided, he had no idea what had become of Cosette, and the entire episode at the barricade was nothing more than a cloud in his memory. Also, he did not know how his life had been saved, or by whom, and no one in his grandfather’s household could fill in the details for him.
Day by day, Marius’s strength increased as his aunt and his grandfather took care of him. Monsieur Gillenormand seemed to treat his grandson more tenderly than ever and one day said to him, “Listen, Marius. You need to start eating some meat for your strength. Fish is fine at the beginning of a convalescence, but a thick steak is what a sick man needs to put him back on his feet.”
By this point, Marius had almost entirely recovered, and taking advantage of his grandfather’s cheerfulness, he said, “Grandfather, there is something I want to say to you.” The young man had a determined look on his face and was sitting straight up in his bed with his fists clenched before him.
“What is it, my son?”
“I want to marry.”
“Agreed!” exclaimed his grandfather as he burst into laughter.
“What do you mean, ‘agreed’?”
“I mean,” the old man said with a smile, “you shall have your little girl you asked me about some time ago.” Marius was stunned, overwhelmed, and began to tremble. His grandfather put his arm around his grandson’s head and pulled Marius close to himself. Finally, both of them began to weep from hearts overflowing with pure happiness.
“But, Grandfather, I no longer know where to find her!” Marius said, remembering the sad reality of his situation.
“Ah, but I do!” Monsieur Gillenormand exclaimed. “You see, she inquires of you every day—in the form of an old man. And it is she who makes the linen bandages he brings each day. I have made inquiries myself, and I know their address. It is 7 rue de l’Homme Armé. You shall see her tomorrow!”
“Why not today? I am quite well and up to it,” Marius said, unable to wait another moment.
“Agreed! I will see to it,” his grandfather assured him.
Cosette walked into the house with a white-haired man following closely behind, whom Marius knew as Monsieur Fauchelevent. Marius and Cosette beheld each other once again, and Marius noticed her father was smiling—albeit a heartrending smile. Monsieur Fauchelevent had a package under his arm, which appeared to be a book wrapped in a moldy, greenish paper.
As Fauchelevent remained near the door, Mademoiselle Gillenormand, who did not like books, whispered under her breath, “I wonder if he always carries books with him like that.”
Overhearing his daughter’s comment, Marius’s grandfather responded, also in a whisper, “Obviously, he’s a learned man. What of it?” Then, with a bow, he said aloud, “Welcome, Monsieur Fauchelevent. I have the honor of asking you, on behalf of my grandson, Le Baron Marius Pontmercy, for the hand of the mademoiselle.”
Monsieur Fauchelevent simply bowed, and the grandfather quickly announced, “Then it’s settled!” Next he turned toward Marius and Cosette, extended both arms over them as a blessing, and exclaimed, “Permission granted to adore each other!” Of course, they did not need his permission, for the adoring had already commenced. Finally, he asked the two of them to sit before him, and he took their hands in his and resumed, “Love each other—and only each other. Be foolish about it! For love is the foolishness of men but the wisdom of God. Cosette, you are a masterpiece and will be a very great lady.” But then his expression suddenly changed to one of dismay, as he added, “Something just occurred to me! All my wealth is in the annuity I receive, but once I am gone, it will end, and you will not have a sou! I am sorry, poor children.”
At these words, Monsieur Fauchelevent stepped forward and said in a somber but peaceful tone, “Mademoiselle Cosette has nearly 600,000 francs.”
“Six hundred thousand francs?” Monsieur Gillenormand asked in astonishment.
“Less 15,000 or so,” answered Fauchelevent, as he set the package he was carrying on the table. Unwrapping it, he revealed it was not a book but was a bundle of money. In total, the bills added to 584,000 francs.
“That is some book!” Monsieur Gillenormand said with a smile.
While the others were engrossed with the money, Marius and Cosette gazed into each other’s eyes. The money was simply an unheeded detail to two young people in love.
The money actually had been hidden when Jean Valjean first found Cosette. He had buried it in a metal box in the forest in Montfermeil, in a place only he knew. Inside the box, he had also placed his other treasure—the bishop’s candlesticks. When he saw Marius was recovering, Valjean resigned himself to the fact that Marius and Cosette would someday be married. Then he had gone to retrieve his buried treasure, knowing the money would prove useful to the young couple. And as soon as he returned home, two candlesticks could be seen on the mantel of his fireplace.
Jean Valjean with his small trunk-like case.
Around this same time, Valjean learned he was finally and forever free of Javert. He had verified the rumors of his old nemesis’s suicide by finding the newspaper report of his death. The report stated the drowned body of “Police Inspector Javert has been found under a boat moored between two bridges, the Pont au Change and the Pont Neuf.”
Life was dramatically changing for Valjean, Cosette, and Marius—but especially for Valjean. It was now December 1832, and as Marius continued to recover from his injuries, his doctor agreed to a February date for the wedding. Plans were in full swing for the happy event, and for his part, Valjean did everything he could to prepare Cosette for the big day. Yet there was one delicate problem still to be solved—Cosette’s legal status and name.
Valjean believed that directly and bluntly announcing Cosette’s origins might jeopardize the marriage and hurt her stature for some time to come, especially in the eyes of Marius’s grandfather and aunt. So rather than revealing her past, Valjean concocted a story and fabricated a family of dead people for her, which he saw as a sure means of avoiding potential problems. He said Cosette was the only living descendant of her entire family, and that she was not actually his daughter, but the daughter of the other Fauchelevent at the Convent of the Petit Picpus. He knew the nuns well enough to know that if anyone inquired about the Fauchelevent brothers, who had been gardeners there for many years, they would simply confirm whatever they were asked—and would say it convincingly. They were never inclined to attach importance to questions of this nature at any rate, and if the truth were known, they had never exactly understood whose daughter—or granddaughter—Cosette had been anyway.
As to the money, Valjean said it was an inheritance bequeathed to Cosette by someone who had desired to remain anonymous. Of course, several loose ends remained in his stories, but for the most part, they were unnoticed or intentionally ignored by others. One of the interested parties had eyes blinded by love, and the others were blinded by the nearly 600,000 francs. At any other time, Cosette would have been brokenhearted to learn that the man she had called father for so long was not her real father. But her heart was filled with love for Marius, and the news she was the daughter of another Fauchelevent became only a passing cloud. Nevertheless, she thought of Valjean as hers and would forever-more refer to him as her father.
Marius and Cosette saw each other every day, but believing every young girl needed a chaperone, Valjean—or Monsieur Fauchelevent—would accompany her. There seemed to be some unspoken agreement between Marius and Fauchelevent, and as a result, the two men would see each other but would never speak. Cosette was not allowed to see Marius alone, and if Fauchelevent was the condition attached to her, Marius was willing to accept it.
In Marius’s mind, many questions still swirled around Monsieur Fauchelevent. He wondered many times if the Fauchelevent at the barricades was the same Fauchelevent who sat so solemnly beside Cosette each day. Often he would simply dismiss this possibility as something brought on by his many days of delirium. His questions lingered, but it seemed impossible for Marius to approach Fauchelevent with his concerns due to the rigid nature of both men.
Yet as the wall of silence between the two men gradually dissolved, Marius began to gain enough boldness to venture an attempt to discover the truth. In conversation he mentioned the rue de la Chanvrerie, where the barricade had been, and casually turned to Fauchelevent and said, “I’m sure you’re acquainted with that street.”
“What street is that again?” Fauchelevent said with a look of innocence.
“The rue de la Chanvrerie.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know that street,” replied Fauchelevent in the most natural manner possible.
At this, Marius concluded Fauchelevent had not been at the barricades and that he must have him confused with someone who resembled him. Still, a few small doubts lingered in the back of his mind.
Marius had two debts of gratitude still unpaid. One was to Thénardier on behalf of his father, and the other was to the unknown man who had returned him safely to his grandfather’s house. Marius was a man of character and had no intention of becoming happily married, only to leave his debts unpaid. Doing that would forever leave a shadow over a life that looked so promising and bright.
Thus, Marius endeavored to find these two men, searching for Thénardier first. But none of the various agents he hired succeeded in discovering any trace of the man. Next he turned to finding the man who had so recently saved his life. What had become of that mysterious man, whom the carriage driver had seen emerge from the Grand Sewer while carrying an unconscious Marius upon his back? The driver also had witnessed that very man immediately being arrested by the police, while in the process of rescuing the revolutionary he carried. Someone had carried him from the barricades to the Champs-Élysées, but who could it have been? And how? Marius surmised the man must have escaped with him through the sewer. But what kind of devotion could lead to such personal sacrifice? And why has the man never come forward? he wondered.
Marius had kept his bloodstained clothing in the hopes it might prove useful in his search. He examined his coat and discovered a strip of cloth had been torn from it in an unusual way. The tear seemed quite different from the tatters on other parts of the coat, but he had no recollection as to what had caused the piece to be missing.
One evening Marius was sharing with Cosette and her father of the many inquiries he had been making and of the fruitlessness of his efforts. As he shared, he became somewhat frustrated by Monsieur Fauchelevent’s blank stare and apparent lack of interest. This led Marius to exclaim, with a certain amount of anger in his voice, “That man who saved me must have been an angel! Do you know what he did, sir? He must have thrown himself headlong into the raging battle and rescued me after I was wounded. Apparently he opened the sewer himself and took me into it. Then he must have struggled in total darkness, weighed down with me, through mile after mile in that awful cesspool. Oh, if only Cosette’s money were mine, I would …”
“But the money is yours,” Fauchelevent interrupted.
“Well,” Marius continued, “I would give it all away if only I could find that man once more!”
Monsieur Fauchelevent—or Jean Valjean—remained silent.