I conjure you,

One has the strength for one thing, but not for another. 　　Sir, I conjure you, I entreat now, sir, give me your most sacred word of honor, that you will not tell her. 　　Is it not enough that you should know it? I have been able to say it myself without being forced to it, I could have told it to the universe, to the whole world,--it was all one to me. 　　But she, she does not know what it is, it would terrify her. 　　What, a convict! we should be obliged to explain matters to her, to say to her: 　　`He is a man who has been in the galleys.' She saw the chain-gang pass by one day. 　　Oh! 　　My God!" . . . He dropped into an arm-chair and hid his face in his hands. 　　His grief was not audible, but from the quivering of his shoulders it was evident that he was weeping. 　　Silent tears, terrible tears. 　　There is something of suffocation in the sob. 　　He was seized with a sort of convulsion, he threw himself against the back of the chair as though to gain breath, letting his arms fall, and allowing Marius to see his face inundated with tears, and Marius heard him murmur, so low that his voice seemed to issue from fathomless depths: 　　"Oh! would that I could die!" 　　"Be at your ease," said Marius, "I will keep your secret for myself alone." 　　x And, less touched, perhaps, than he ought to have been, but forced, for the last hour, to familiarize himself with something as unexpected as it was dreadful, gradually beholding the convict superposed before his very eyes, upon M. Fauchelevent, overcome, little by little, by that lugubrious reality, and led, by the natural inclination of the situation, to recognize the space which had just been placed between that man and himself, Marius added: 　　"It is impossible that I should not speak a word to you with regard to the deposit which you have so faithfully and honestly remitted. That is an act of probity. 　　It is just that some recompense should be bestowed on you. 　　Fix the sum yourself, it shall be counted out to you. Do not fear to set it very high." 　　"I thank you, sir," replied Jean Valjean, gently. 　　He remained in thought for a moment, mechanically passing the tip of his fore-finger across his thumb-nail, then he lifted up his voice: 　　"All is nearly over. 　　But one last thing remains for me . . ." 　　"What is it?"