reassured him as to the other.

In the presence of this double secret, Marius recoiled. 　　The one, in some sort, reassured him as to the other. 　　God was as visible in this affair as was Jean Valjean. 　　God has his instruments. He makes use of the tool which he wills. 　　He is not responsible to men. 　　Do we know how God sets about the work? 　　Jean Valjean had labored over Cosette. 　　He had, to some extent, made that soul. That was incontestable. 　　Well, what then? 　　The workman was horrible; but the work was admirable. 　　God produces his miracles as seems good to him. 　　He had constructed that charming Cosette, and he had employed Jean Valjean. 　　It had pleased him to choose this strange collaborator for himself. 　　What account have we to demand of him? Is this the first time that the dung-heap has aided the spring to create the rose? 　　Marius made himself these replies, and declared to himself that they were good. 　　He had not dared to press Jean Valjean on all the points which we have just indicated, but he did not confess to himself that he did not dare to do it. 　　He adored Cosette, he possessed Cosette, Cosette was splendidly pure. 　　That was sufficient for him. What enlightenment did he need? 　　Cosette was a light. 　　Does light require enlightenment? 　　He had everything; what more could he desire? 　　All,-- is not that enough? 　　Jean Valjean's personal affairs did not concern him. 　　And bending over the fatal shadow of that man, he clung fast, convulsively, to the solemn declaration of that unhappy wretch: "I am nothing to Cosette. 　　Ten years ago I did not know that she was in existence." 　　Jean Valjean was a passer-by. He had said so himself. Well, he had passed. 　　Whatever he was, his part was finished. 　　Henceforth, there remained Marius to fulfil the part of Providence to Cosette. 　　Cosette had sought the azure in a person like herself, in her lover, her husband, her celestial male.