While this sort of a dog with a human face was mounting guard over the gate, and while the six ruffians were yielding to a girl, Marius was by Cosette's side.
Never had the sky been more studded with stars and more charming, the trees more trembling, the odor of the grass more penetrating; never had the birds fallen asleep among the leaves with a sweeter noise; never had all the harmonies of universal serenity responded more thoroughly to the inward music of love; never had Marius been more captivated, more happy, more ecstatic.
But he had found Cosette sad; Cosette had been weeping. Her eyes were red.
This was the first cloud in that wonderful dream.
Marius' first word had been: "What is the matter?"
And she had replied: "This."
Then she had seated herself on the bench near the steps, and while he tremblingly took his place beside her, she had continued:--
"My father told me this morning to hold myself in readiness, because he has business, and we may go away from here."
Marius shivered from head to foot.
When one is at the end of one's life, to die means to go away; when one is at the beginning of it, to go away means to die.
For the last six weeks, Marius had little by little, slowly, by degrees, taken possession of Cosette each day. As we have already explained, in the case of first love, the soul is taken long before the body; later on, one takes the body long before the soul; sometimes one does not take the soul at all; the Faublas and the Prudhommes add: "Because there is none"; but the sarcasm is, fortunately, a blasphemy. So Marius possessed Cosette, as spirits possess, but he enveloped her with all his soul, and seized her jealously with incredible conviction. He possessed her smile, her breath, her perfume, the profound radiance of her blue eyes, the sweetness of her skin when he touched her hand, the charming mark which she had on her neck, all her thoughts. Therefore, he possessed all Cosette's dreams.
He incessantly gazed at, and he sometimes touched lightly with his breath, the short locks on the nape of her neck, and he declared to himself that there was not one of those short hairs which did not belong to him, Marius. He gazed upon and adored the things that she wore, her knot of ribbon, her gloves, her sleeves, her shoes, her cuffs, as sacred objects of which he was the master. He dreamed that he was the lord of those pretty shell combs which she wore in her hair, and he even said to himself, in confused and suppressed stammerings of voluptuousness which did not make their way to the light, that there was not a ribbon of her gown, not a mesh in her stockings, not a fold in her bodice, which was not his. Beside Cosette he felt himself beside his own property, his own thing, his own despot and his slave. It seemed as though they had so intermingled their souls, that it would have been impossible to tell them apart had they wished to take them back again.--"This is mine." "No, it is mine." "I assure you that you are mistaken. This is my property." "What you are taking as your own is myself."-- Marius was something that made a part of Cosette, and Cosette was something which made a part of Marius. Marius felt Cosette within him. To have Cosette, to possess Cosette, this, to him, was not to be distinguished from breathing. It was in the midst of this faith, of this intoxication, of this virgin possession, unprecedented and absolute, of this sovereignty, that these words: "We are going away," fell suddenly, at a blow, and that the harsh voice of reality cried to him: "Cosette is not yours!"
Marius awoke. For six weeks Marius had been living, as we have said, outside of life; those words, going away! caused him to re-enter it harshly.
He found not a word to say. Cosette merely felt that his hand was very cold. She said to him in her turn: "What is the matter?"
He replied in so low a tone that Cosette hardly heard him:--
"I did not understand what you said."
She began again:--
"This morning my father told me to settle all my little affairs and to hold myself in readiness, that he would give me his linen to put in a trunk, that he was obliged to go on a journey, that we were to go away, that it is necessary to have a large trunk for me and a small one for him, and that all is to be ready in a week from now, and that we might go to England."
"But this is outrageous!" exclaimed Marius.
It is certain, that, at that moment, no abuse of power, no violence, not one of the abominations of the worst tyrants, no action of Busiris, of Tiberius, or of Henry VIII., could have equalled this in atrocity, in the opinion of Marius; M. Fauchelevent taking his daughter off to England because he had business there.
He demanded in a weak voice:--
"And when do you start?"
"He did not say when."
"And when shall you return?"
"He did not say when."
Marius rose and said coldly:--
"Cosette, shall you go?"
Cosette turned toward him her beautiful eyes, all filled with anguish, and replied in a sort of bewilderment:--
"Where?"
"To England. Shall you go?"
"Why do you say you to me?"
"I ask you whether you will go?"
"What do you expect me to do?" she said, clasping her hands.
"So, you will go?"
"If my father goes."
"So, you will go?"
Cosette took Marius' hand, and pressed it without replying.
"Very well," said Marius, "then I will go elsewhere."
Cosette felt rather than understood the meaning of these words. She turned so pale that her face shone white through the gloom. She stammered:--
"What do you mean?"
Marius looked at her, then raised his eyes to heaven, and answered: "Nothing."
When his eyes fell again, he saw Cosette smiling at him. The smile of a woman whom one loves possesses a visible radiance, even at night.
"How silly we are! Marius, I have an idea."
"What is it?"
"If we go away, do you go too! I will tell you where! Come and join me wherever I am."
Marius was now a thoroughly roused man. He had fallen back into reality. He cried to Cosette:--
"Go away with you! Are you mad? Why, I should have to have money, and I have none! Go to England? But I am in debt now, I owe, I don't know how much, more than ten louis to Courfeyrac, one of my friends with whom you are not acquainted! I have an old hat which is not worth three francs, I have a coat which lacks buttons in front, my shirt is all ragged, my elbows are torn, my boots let in the water; for the last six weeks I have not thought about it, and I have not told you about it. You only see me at night, and you give me your love; if you were to see me in the daytime, you would give me a sou! Go to England! Eh! I haven't enough to pay for a passport!"
He threw himself against a tree which was close at hand, erect, his brow pressed close to the bark, feeling neither the wood which flayed his skin, nor the fever which was throbbing in his temples, and there he stood motionless, on the point of falling, like the statue of despair.
He remained a long time thus. One could remain for eternity in such abysses. At last he turned round. He heard behind him a faint stifled noise, which was sweet yet sad.
It was Cosette sobbing.
She had been weeping for more than two hours beside Marius as he meditated.
He came to her, fell at her knees, and slowly prostrating himself, he took the tip of her foot which peeped out from beneath her robe, and kissed it.
She let him have his way in silence. There are moments when a woman accepts, like a sombre and resigned goddess, the religion of love.
"Do not weep," he said.
She murmured:--
"Not when I may be going away, and you cannot come!"
He went on:--
"Do you love me?"
She replied, sobbing, by that word from paradise which is never more charming than amid tears:--
"I adore you!"
He continued in a tone which was an indescribable caress:--
"Do not weep. Tell me, will you do this for me, and cease to weep?"
"Do you love me?" said she.
He took her hand.
"Cosette, I have never given my word of honor to any one, because my word of honor terrifies me. I feel that my father is by my side. Well, I give you my most sacred word of honor, that if you go away I shall die."
In the tone with which he uttered these words there lay a melancholy so solemn and so tranquil, that Cosette trembled. She felt that chill which is produced by a true and gloomy thing as it passes by. The shock made her cease weeping.
"Now, listen," said he, "do not expect me to-morrow."
"Why?"
"Do not expect me until the day after to-morrow."
"Oh! Why?"
"You will see."
"A day without seeing you! But that is impossible!"
"Let us sacrifice one day in order to gain our whole lives, perhaps."
And Marius added in a low tone and in an aside:--
"He is a man who never changes his habits, and he has never received any one except in the evening."
"Of what man are you speaking?" asked Cosette.
"I? I said nothing."
"What do you hope, then?"
"Wait until the day after to-morrow."
"You wish it?"
"Yes, Cosette."
She took his head in both her hands, raising herself on tiptoe in order to be on a level with him, and tried to read his hope in his eyes.
Marius resumed:--
"Now that I think of it, you ought to know my address: something might happen, one never knows; I live with that friend named Courfeyrac, Rue de la Verrerie, No. 16."
He searched in his pocket, pulled out his penknife, and with the blade he wrote on the plaster of the wall:--
"16 Rue de la Verrerie."
In the meantime, Cosette had begun to gaze into his eyes once more.
"Tell me your thought, Marius; you have some idea. Tell it to me. Oh! tell me, so that I may pass a pleasant night."
"This is my idea: that it is impossible that God should mean to part us. Wait; expect me the day after to-morrow."
"What shall I do until then?" said Cosette. "You are outside, you go, and come! How happy men are! I shall remain entirely alone! Oh! How sad I shall be! What is it that you are going to do to-morrow evening? tell me."
"I am going to try something."
"Then I will pray to God and I will think of you here, so that you may be successful. I will question you no further, since you do not wish it. You are my master. I shall pass the evening to-morrow in singing that music from Euryanthe that you love, and that you came one evening to listen to, outside my shutters. But day after to-morrow you will come early. I shall expect you at dusk, at nine o'clock precisely, I warn you. Mon Dieu! how sad it is that the days are so long! On the stroke of nine, do you understand, I shall be in the garden."
"And I also."
And without having uttered it, moved by the same thought, impelled by those electric currents which place lovers in continual communication, both being intoxicated with delight even in their sorrow, they fell into each other's arms, without perceiving that their lips met while their uplifted eyes, overflowing with rapture and full of tears, gazed upon the stars.
When Marius went forth, the street was deserted. This was the moment when Eponine was following the ruffians to the boulevard.
While Marius had been dreaming with his head pressed to the tree, an idea had crossed his mind; an idea, alas! that he himself judged to be senseless and impossible. He had come to a desperate decision.
正当那生着人脸的母狗坚守铁栏门，六个强人在一个姑娘眼前退却时，马吕斯恰在珂赛特的身旁。
天上的星星从没有那样晶莹动人，树也从不那样震颤，草也从没那么芬芳，枝头入睡小鸟的啁啾从没有那么甜蜜。天空明静，景物宜人，这与他俩当时心灵内部的音乐，不能唱答得更加和谐了。马吕斯从来没有那么钟情，那么幸福，那么兴高采烈。但是他发现珂赛特闷闷不乐。珂赛特哭过。她的眼睛还是红的。
这是初次出现在这场可喜的美梦中的阴霾。
马吕斯的第一句话是：
“你怎么了？”
她回答说：
“不怎么。”
随后，她坐在台阶旁边的凳上，正当他哆哆嗦嗦过去坐在她身旁时，她继续说：
“今天早晨，我父亲叫我作好准备，说他有要紧的事，我们也许要走了。”
马吕斯感到一阵寒噤，从头颤到脚。
人在生命结束时，死，叫做走；在开始时，走，却等于死。六个星期以来，马吕斯一点一点地、一步步、慢慢地、一天天地占有着珂赛特。完全是观念上的占有，但是是深入的占有。正如我们已经说过的，人在爱的初期，取灵魂远远先于肉体；到后来，取肉体又远远先于灵魂，有时甚至全不取灵魂；福布拉斯①和普律多姆②之流更补充说：“因为灵魂是不存在的。”但是这种刻薄话幸而只是一种*。因而马吕斯占有珂赛特，有如精神的占有，但是他用了他的全部灵魂裹绕着她，并以一种难于想象的信念，满怀妒意地抓着她。他占有她的微笑、她的呼吸、她的香气、她那双蓝眼睛的澄澈的光辉、她皮肤的柔润（当他碰到她的手的时候）、她颈子上的那颗迷人的痣、她的全部思想。他们曾经约定：睡眠中必须彼此梦见，他们并且是说话算数的。因此他占有了珂赛特的每一场梦。他经常不停地望着她后颈窝里的那几根短头发，并用他的呼吸轻拂着它们，宣称那些短头发没有一根不是属于他马吕斯的。他景仰并崇拜她的穿着、她的缎带结、她的手套、她的花边袖口、她的短统靴，把这些都当作神圣的东西，而他是这些东西的主人。他常迷迷忽忽地想他自己是她头发里那把精致的玳瑁梳子的主权所有人，他甚至暗自思量（情欲初萌时的胡思乱想）：她裙袍上的每根线、她袜子上的每个网眼、她内衣上的每条皱纹，没有一样不是属于他的。他待在珂赛特的身旁，自以为是在他财产的旁边，在他所有物的旁边，在他的暴君和奴隶的旁边。他们好象已把各自的灵魂搀和在一起了，如果要想收回，已无法分清。“这个灵魂是我的。”“不对，是我的。”“我向你保证，你弄错了。肯定是我。”“你把它当作你，其实是我。”马吕斯已是珂赛特的某一部分，珂赛特已是马吕斯的某一部分。马吕斯感到珂赛特生活在他的体内。有珂赛特，占有珂赛特，对他来说，是和呼吸一样分不开的。正是在这种信念、这种迷恋、这种童贞和空前的绝对占有欲、这种主权观念的萦绕中，他突然听到“我们要走了”这几个字，突然听到现实的粗暴声音对他喊道：“珂赛特不是你的！”
①福布拉斯（Faublas），一七八七年至一七九○年在法国出版的小说《德·福布拉斯骑士》一书之主角。
②普律多姆（Prudhomme），一八三○年前后漫画中之人物，一般指性情浮夸的人。
马吕斯惊醒过来了。我们已经说过，六个星期以来，马吕斯是生活在生活之外的。走！这个字又狠狠地把他推进了现实。
他一句话也说不出。珂赛特只觉得他的手是冰冷的。现在轮到她来说了：
“你怎么了？”
他有气无力地回答，珂赛特几乎听不清，他说：
“我听不懂你说了些什么。”
她接着说：
“今天早晨我父亲要我把我的日用物品收拾起来准备好，说他就要把他的换洗衣服交给我放在大箱子里，他得出门去旅行一趟，我们不久就要走了，要我准备一个大箱子，替他准备一个小的，这一切都要在一个星期以内准备好，还说我们也许要去英国。”
“可是，这太可怕了！”马吕斯大声说。
毫无疑问，马吕斯这时的思想，认为任何滥用权力的事件、任何暴行，最荒谬的暴君的任何罪恶，布西利斯①、提比利乌斯或亨利八世的任何行为，都比不上这一举动的残酷性：割风先生要带女儿去英国，因为他有事要处理。
①布西利斯（Busiris），传说中的古代埃及暴君。
他声音微弱地问道：
“你什么时候动身？”
“他没有说什么时候。”
“你什么时候回来？”
“他没有说什么时候。”
马吕斯立了起来，冷冰冰地问道：
“珂赛特，您去不去呢？”
珂赛特把她两只凄惶欲绝的秀眼转过来望着他，不知所云地回答说：
“去哪儿？”
“英国，您去不去呢？”
“你为什么要对我说‘您’？”
“我问您，您去不去？”
“你要我怎么办？”她扭着自己的两只手说。
“那么，您是要去的了？”
“假使我父亲要去呢？”
“那么，您是要去的了？”
珂赛特抓住马吕斯的一只手，紧捏着它，没有回答。
“好吧，”马吕斯说，“那么，我就到别的地方去。”
珂赛特没有听懂他的话，但已觉得这句话的分量。她脸色顿时大变，在黑暗中显得惨白。她结结巴巴地说：
“你这话是什么意思？”
马吕斯望着她，随即慢慢地抬起眼睛，望着天空，回答说：
“没有什么。”
当他低下眼皮时，他看见珂赛特在对他微笑。女子对她爱人的微笑，在黑暗中有一种照人的光亮。
“我们多傻！马吕斯，我想出了一个办法。”
“什么办法？”
“我们走，你也走！回头我再告诉你去什么地方！你到我们要去的地方来找我！”
马吕斯现在是个完全清醒的人了。他又回到了现实。他对珂赛特大声说：
“和你们一道走！你疯了吗？得有钱呀，我没有钱！去英国吗？我现在还欠古费拉克，我不知道多少，至少十个路易。他是我的一个朋友，你不认识的。我有一顶旧帽子，值三个法郎，我有一件上衣，前面缺着几个扣子，我的衬衫稀烂，衣服袖子全破了，我的靴子吸水。六个星期以来，我全没想到这些，也没向你谈过。珂赛特！我是个穷小子。你只是在夜晚看见我，把你的爱给我了。要是你在白天看见我，你会给我一个苏！到英国去！嗨嗨！我连出国护照费也付不起！”
他一下冲过去立在旁边的一棵树跟前，手臂伸到头顶上，前额抵着树身，既不感到树在戳他的皮肉，也不觉得热血频频敲着他的太阳穴，他一动不动，只待倒下去，象个绝望的塑像。
他这样呆了许久。也许永远跳不出这个深渊了。最后，他转过头来。他听到从他后面传来一阵轻柔凄楚的抽噎声。
是珂赛特在痛哭。
他向她走去，跪在她跟前，又慢慢伏下去，抓住她露在裙袍边上的脚尖，吻着它。
她任他这样做，一声不响。妇女有时是会象一个悲悯忍从的女神那样，接受爱的礼拜的。
“不要哭了。”他说。
她低声地说：
“我也许就要离开此地了，你又不能跟来！”
他接着说：
“你爱我吗？”
她一面抽泣，一面回答，她回答的话，在含着眼泪说出来时，是格外惊心动魄的：
“我崇拜你！”
他用一种说不出有多温柔委婉的语声说：
“不要哭了。你说，你愿意吗，为了我，你就不要再哭了？”
“你爱我吗，你？”
他捏着她的手：
“珂赛特，我从来没有对谁发过誓，因为我怕发誓。我觉得我父亲在我身边。可是现在我可以向你发出最神圣的誓：如果你走，我就死。”
他说这些话时的声调有着一种庄严而平静的忧伤气息，使珂赛特听了为之战栗。她感到某种阴森而实在的东西经过时带来的冷气。由于恐惧，她停止了哭泣。
“现在，你听我说，”他说，“你明天不要等我。”
“为什么？”
“后天再等我。”
“呵！为什么？”
“你会知道的。”
“一整天见不着你！那是不可能的。”
“我们就牺牲一整天吧，也许能换来一辈子。”
马吕斯又低声对自己说：
“这人是从不改变他的习惯的，不到天黑从不会客。”
“你说的是谁呀？”珂赛特问。
“我吗？我什么也没有说。”
“那么你希望的是什么？”
“等到后天再说吧。”
“你一定要这样？”
“是的，珂赛特。”
她用她的两只手捧着他的头，踮起脚尖来达到他身体的高度，想从他的眼睛里猜出他的所谓希望。
马吕斯接着说：
“我想起来了，你应当知道我的住址，也许会发生什么事，谁也不知道。我住在那个叫古费拉克的朋友家里，玻璃厂街十六号。”
他从衣袋里摸出一把一折两的小刀，用刀尖在石灰墙上刻下了“玻璃厂街，十六号”。
珂赛特这时又开始观察他的眼睛。
“把你的想法说给我听。马吕斯，你在想着一件什么事。说给我听。呵！说给我听，让我好好睡一夜！”
“我的想法是这样：上帝不可能把我们分开。后天你等我吧。”
“后天，我怎样挨到后天呀？”珂赛特说。“你，你在外面，去去来来。男人们多快乐呀！我，我一个人待在家里。呵！好不愁人哟！明天晚上你要去干什么，你？”
“有件事，我要去试试。”
“那么我就祈祷上帝，让你成功，心里想着你，等你来。我不再问你什么了，你既然不要我问。你是我的主人。我明晚就待在家里唱《欧利安特》，那是你爱听的，是你有一天夜里在我板窗外面听过的。但是后天，你要早点来。我在夜里等你，九点正，预先告诉你。我的上帝！多么愁人，日子过得多么慢呵！
你听明白了，准九点，我就在园子里了。”
“我也一样。”
他俩在不知不觉中，被同一个思想所推动，被那种不断交驰于两个情人之间的电流所牵引，被并存于痛苦之中的欢情所陶醉，不约而同地相互投入了对方的怀抱，他们的嘴唇也于无意中相遇了，神魂飞越，泪水盈眶，共同仰望着夜空繁星点点。
马吕斯走出园子时，街上一个人也没有。爱潘妮这时正跟在那伙匪徒后面爬向大路。
当马吕斯把脑袋抵在那棵树上冥思苦想时，一个念头出现在他的脑子里，一个念头，是呀，只可惜在他本人看来，也是怪诞的和不可能的。他硬着头皮决定去试试。
