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He had represented himself to her as a gentleman of means who had been ruined by Spanish bonds, who was coming there to live with his little daughter. He had paid her six months in advance, and had commissioned the old woman to furnish the chamber and dressing-room, as we have seen. It was this good woman who had lighted the fire in the stove, and prepared everything on the evening of their arrival. 　　Week followed week; these two beings led a happy life in that hovel. 　　Cosette laughed, chattered, and sang from daybreak.

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　　Children have their morning song as well as birds. 　　It sometimes happened that Jean Valjean clasped her tiny red hand, all cracked with chilblains, and kissed it. 　　The poor child, who was used to being beaten, did not know the meaning of this, and ran away in confusion. 　　At times she became serious and stared at her little black gown. Cosette was no longer in rags; she was in mourning. 　　She had emerged from misery, and she was entering into life. 　　Jean Valjean had undertaken to teach her to read. 　　Sometimes, as he made the child spell, he remembered that it was with the idea of doing evil that he had learned to read in prison. 　　This idea had ended in teaching a child to read. 　　Then the ex-convict smiled with the pensive smile of the angels. 　　He felt in it a premeditation from on high, the will of some one who was not man, and he became absorbed in revery. 　　Good thoughts have their abysses as well as evil ones. 　　To teach Cosette to read, and to let her play, this constituted nearly the whole of Jean Valjean's existence. 　　And then he talked of her mother, and he made her pray.

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　　She called him father, and knew no other name for him. 　　He passed hours in watching her dressing and undressing her doll, and in listening to her prattle. 　　Life, henceforth, appeared to him to be full of interest; men seemed to him good and just; he no longer reproached any one in thought; he saw no reason why he should not live to be a very old man, now that this child loved him. He saw a whole future stretching out before him, illuminated by Cosette as by a charming light. 　　The best of us are not exempt from egotistical thoughts. 　　At times, he reflected with a sort of joy that she would be ugly. 　　This is only a personal opinion; but, to utter our whole thought, at the point where Jean Valjean had arrived when he began to love Cosette, it is by no means clear to us that he did not need this encouragement in order that he might persevere in well-doing. He had just viewed the malice of men and the misery of society under a new aspect-- incomplete aspects, which unfortunately only exhibited one side of the truth, the fate of woman as summed up in Fantine, and public authority as personified in Javert. 　　He had returned to prison, this time for having done right; he had quaffed fresh bitterness; disgust and lassitude were overpowering him; even the memory of the Bishop probably suffered a temporary eclipse, though sure to reappear later on luminous and triumphant; but, after all, that sacred memory was growing dim. 　　Who knows whether Jean Valjean had not been on the eve of growing discouraged and of falling once more? He loved and grew strong again. 　　Alas! he walked with no less indecision than Cosette. 　　He protected her, and she strengthened him. Thanks to him, she could walk through life; thanks to her, he could continue in virtue. 　　He was that child's stay, and she was his prop. 　　Oh, unfathomable and divine mystery of the balances of destiny! replica chanel replica chanel purse replica chanel bags replica chanel handbags fake chanel chanel watches replica replica chanel watches replica chanel sunglasses chanel sunglasses replica