When evening came, Jean Valjean went out; Cosette dressed herself. She arranged her hair in the most becoming manner, and she put on a dress whose bodice had received one snip of the scissors too much, and which, through this slope, permitted a view of the beginning of her throat, and was, as young girls say, "a trifle indecent." It was not in the least indecent, but it was prettier than usual. She made her toilet thus without knowing why she did so.
Did she mean to go out? No.
Was she expecting a visitor? No.
At dusk, she went down to the garden. Toussaint was busy in her kitchen, which opened on the back yard.
She began to stroll about under the trees, thrusting aside the branches from time to time with her hand, because there were some which hung very low.
In this manner she reached the bench.
The stone was still there.
She sat down, and gently laid her white hand on this stone as though she wished to caress and thank it.
All at once, she experienced that indefinable impression which one undergoes when there is some one standing behind one, even when she does not see the person.
She turned her head and rose to her feet.
It was he.
His head was bare. He appeared to have grown thin and pale. His black clothes were hardly discernible. The twilight threw a wan light on his fine brow, and covered his eyes in shadows. Beneath a veil of incomparable sweetness, he had something about him that suggested death and night. His face was illuminated by the light of the dying day, and by the thought of a soul that is taking flight.
He seemed to be not yet a ghost, and he was no longer a man.
He had flung away his hat in the thicket, a few paces distant.
Cosette, though ready to swoon, uttered no cry. She retreated slowly, for she felt herself attracted. He did not stir. By virtue of something ineffable and melancholy which enveloped him, she felt the look in his eyes which she could not see.
Cosette, in her retreat, encountered a tree and leaned against it. Had it not been for this tree, she would have fallen.
Then she heard his voice, that voice which she had really never heard, barely rising above the rustle of the leaves, and murmuring:--
"Pardon me, here I am. My heart is full. I could not live on as I was living, and I have come. Have you read what I placed there on the bench? Do you recognize me at all? Have no fear of me. It is a long time, you remember the day, since you looked at me at the Luxembourg, near the Gladiator. And the day when you passed before me? It was on the 16th of June and the 2d of July. It is nearly a year ago. I have not seen you for a long time. I inquired of the woman who let the chairs, and she told me that she no longer saw you. You lived in the Rue de l'Ouest, on the third floor, in the front apartments of a new house,--you see that I know! I followed you. What else was there for me to do? And then you disappeared. I thought I saw you pass once, while I was reading the newspapers under the arcade of the Odeon. I ran after you. But no. It was a person who had a bonnet like yours. At night I came hither. Do not be afraid, no one sees me. I come to gaze upon your windows near at hand. I walk very softly, so that you may not hear, for you might be alarmed. The other evening I was behind you, you turned round, I fled. Once, I heard you singing. I was happy. Did it affect you because I heard you singing through the shutters? That could not hurt you. No, it is not so? You see, you are my angel! Let me come sometimes; I think that I am going to die. If you only knew! I adore you. Forgive me, I speak to you, but I do not know what I am saying; I may have displeased you; have I displeased you?"
"Oh! my mother!" said she.
And she sank down as though on the point of death.
He grasped her, she fell, he took her in his arms, he pressed her close, without knowing what he was doing. He supported her, though he was tottering himself. It was as though his brain were full of smoke; lightnings darted between his lips; his ideas vanished; it seemed to him that he was accomplishing some religious act, and that he was committing a profanation. Moreover, he had not the least passion for this lovely woman whose force he felt against his breast. He was beside himself with love.
She took his hand and laid it on her heart. He felt the paper there, he stammered:--
"You love me, then?"
She replied in a voice so low that it was no longer anything more than a barely audible breath:--
"Hush! Thou knowest it!"
And she hid her blushing face on the breast of the superb and intoxicated young man.
He fell upon the bench, and she beside him. They had no words more. The stars were beginning to gleam. How did it come to pass that their lips met? How comes it to pass that the birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that May expands, that the dawn grows white behind the black trees on the shivering crest of the hills?
A kiss, and that was all.
Both started, and gazed into the darkness with sparkling eyes.
They felt neither the cool night, nor the cold stone, nor the damp earth, nor the wet grass; they looked at each other, and their hearts were full of thoughts. They had clasped hands unconsciously.
She did not ask him, she did not even wonder, how he had entered there, and how he had made his way into the garden. It seemed so simple to her that he should be there!
From time to time, Marius' knee touched Cosette's knee, and both shivered.
At intervals, Cosette stammered a word. Her soul fluttered on her lips like a drop of dew on a flower.
Little by little they began to talk to each other. Effusion followed silence, which is fulness. The night was serene and splendid overhead. These two beings, pure as spirits, told each other everything, their dreams, their intoxications, their ecstasies, their chimaeras, their weaknesses, how they had adored each other from afar, how they had longed for each other, their despair when they had ceased to see each other. They confided to each other in an ideal intimacy, which nothing could augment, their most secret and most mysterious thoughts. They related to each other, with candid faith in their illusions, all that love, youth, and the remains of childhood which still lingered about them, suggested to their minds. Their two hearts poured themselves out into each other in such wise, that at the expiration of a quarter of an hour, it was the young man who had the young girl's soul, and the young girl who had the young man's soul. Each became permeated with the other, they were enchanted with each other, they dazzled each other.
When they had finished, when they had told each other everything, she laid her head on his shoulder and asked him:--
"What is your name?"
"My name is Marius," said he. "And yours?"
"My name is Cosette."
黄昏时，冉阿让出去了，珂赛特动手梳妆。她把头发理成最适合自己的式样，穿一件裙袍，上衣的领口，因为多剪了一刀，把颈窝露出来了，按照姑娘们的说法，那样的领口是“有点不正派”的。其实一点也没有什么不正派，只不过比不那样的更漂亮些罢了。她这样装饰，自己也不知道为什么。
她想出去吗？不。
她等待客人来访问吗？也不。
天黑了，她从楼上下来，到了园里。杜桑正在厨房里忙着，厨房是对着后院的。
她在树枝下面走，有时得用手去分开树枝，因为有些枝子很低。
她这样走到了条凳跟前。
那块石头仍在原处。
她坐下来，伸出一只白嫩的手，放在那石头上，仿佛要抚摸它、感激它似的。
她忽然有一种说不出的感觉：在自己背后立着一个人，即使不看，也能感到。
她转过头去，并且立了起来。
果然是他。
他头上没戴帽子，脸色显得苍白，并且瘦了。几乎看不出他的衣服是黑的。傍晚的微光把他的俊美的脸映得发青，两只眼睛隐在黑影里。他在一层无比柔和的暮霭中，有种类似幽灵和黑夜的意味。他的脸反映着奄奄一息的白昼的残晖和行将远离的灵魂的思慕。
他象一种尚未成鬼却已非人的东西。
他的帽子落在几步外的乱草中。
珂赛特蹒跚欲倒，却没有喊一声。她慢慢往后退，因为她感到自己被吸引住了。他呢，立着不动。她看不见他的眼睛，却感到他的目光里有一种说不上来的难以表达和忧伤的东西把她裹住了。
珂赛特往后退时，碰到一棵树，她便靠在树身上。如果没有这棵树，她早已倒下去了。
她听到他说话的声音，这确实是她在这之前从来没听到过的，他吞吞吐吐地说，比树叶颤动的声音大不了多少：“请原谅，我到这儿来了。我心里太苦闷，不能再那样活下去，所以我来了。您已看了我放在这里、这条凳上的东西了吧？您认清我了吧？请不要怕我。已很久了，您还记得您望我一眼的那天吗？那是在卢森堡公园里，在那角斗士塑像的旁边。还有您从我面前走过的那一天，您也记得吗？那是六月十六和七月二日。快一年了。许久许久以来，我再也见不着您。我问过出租椅子的妇人，她告诉我说她也没有再看见过您。您当时住在西街，一栋新房子的四层楼上。您看得出我知道吗？我跟过您，我。我有什么办法？过后，您忽然不见了。有一次，我在奥德翁戏院的走廊下面读报纸，忽然看见您走过。我便跑去追原来并不是您。是个戴一顶和您的帽子一样的人。到了晚上，我常来这儿。您不用担心，没有人看见我。我到您窗子下面的近处来望望。我轻轻地走路，免得您听见，要不，您会害怕的。有一天晚上，我站在您的背后，您转身过来，我便逃了。还有一次，我听到您唱歌。我快乐极了。我在板窗外面听您唱，您不会不高兴吧？您不会不高兴。不会的，对吗？您明白，您是我的天使，让我多来几次吧。我想我快死了，假使您知道！我崇拜您，我！请您原谅，我和您说话。我不知道我说了些什么，我也许使您生气了；我使您生气了吗？”
“呵，我的母亲！”她说。
她好象要死似的，瘫软下去了。
他连忙搀住她，她仍往下坠，他只得用手臂把她紧紧抱住，一点不知道自己在干什么。他踉踉跄跄地扶住她，觉得自己满脑子里烟雾缭绕，睫毛里电光闪闪，心里也迷糊了，他仿佛觉得他是在完成一项宗教行为，却犯了*神明的罪。其实，他怀里抱着这个动人的女郎，胸脯已感到她的体形，却毫无欲念。他被爱情搞得神魂颠倒了。
她拿起他的一只手，把它放在胸口。他感到藏在里面的那叠纸。他怯生生地说：
“您爱我吗？”
她以轻如微风，几乎使人听不见的声音悄悄地回答说：
“不要你问！你早知道了！”
她把羞得绯红的脸藏在那个出类拔萃、心花怒放的青年的怀里。
他落在条凳上，她待在他旁边。他们已不再说话。星光开始闪耀。他们的嘴唇又怎么相遇的呢？鸟雀又怎么会唱，雪花又怎么会融，玫瑰又怎么会开，五月又怎么会纷红骇绿，曙光又怎么会在萧瑟的小丘顶上那些幽暗的林木后面泛白呢？
一吻，便一切都在了。
他俩心里同时吃了一惊，睁着雪亮的眼睛在黑暗中互相注视。
他们已感觉不到晚凉，也感觉不到石凳的冷，泥土的潮，青草的湿，他们相互望着，思绪满怀，不知不觉中，已彼此互握着手。
她没有问他，甚至没有想到要问他是从什么地方进来的，又是怎样来到这园里的。在她看来，他来到此地是一件极简单自然的事！
马吕斯的膝头间或碰到珂赛特的膝头，他俩便感到浑身一阵颤。
珂赛特偶尔结结巴巴地说上一两句话。她的灵魂，象花上的一滴露珠，在她的唇边抖颤。
他们渐渐谈起话来了。倾诉衷肠接替了代表情真意酣的沉默。在他们上空夜色明净奇美。他俩，纯洁如精灵，无所不谈，谈他们的怀念，他们的思慕，他们的陶醉，他们的幻想，他们的忧伤，他们怎样两地相思，他们怎样遥相祝愿，他们在不再相见时的痛苦。他们以已无可增添的极度亲密互诉了自己心里最隐密和最神秘的东西。他们各凭自己的幻想，以天真憨直的信任，把爱情、青春和各自残剩的一点孩子气全部交流了。彼此都把自己的心倾注在对方的心里，这样一个钟头过后，少男获得了少女的灵魂，少女也获得了少男的灵魂。他们互相渗透，互相陶醉，互相照耀了。
当他们谈完了，当他们倾吐尽了时，她把她的头靠在他的肩上，问他说：
“您叫什么名字？”
“我叫马吕斯，”他说，“您呢？”
“我叫珂赛特。”
