To realize one's dream. To whom is this accorded? There must be elections for this in heaven; we are all candidates, unknown to ourselves; the angels vote. Cosette and Marius had been elected.
Cosette, both at the mayor's office and at church, was dazzling and touching. Toussaint, assisted by Nicolette, had dressed her.
Cosette wore over a petticoat of white taffeta, her robe of Binche guipure, a veil of English point, a necklace of fine pearls, a wreath of orange flowers; all this was white, and, from the midst of that whiteness she beamed forth. It was an exquisite candor expanding and becoming transfigured in the light. One would have pronounced her a virgin on the point of turning into a goddess.
Marius' handsome hair was lustrous and perfumed; here and there, beneath the thick curls, pale lines--the scars of the barricade-- were visible.
The grandfather, haughty, with head held high, amalgamating more than ever in his toilet and his manners all the elegances of the epoch of Barras, escorted Cosette. He took the place of Jean Valjean, who, on account of his arm being still in a sling, could not give his hand to the bride.
Jean Valjean, dressed in black, followed them with a smile.
"Monsieur Fauchelevent," said the grandfather to him, "this is a fine day. I vote for the end of afflictions and sorrows. Henceforth, there must be no sadness anywhere. Pardieu, I decree joy! Evil has no right to exist. That there should be any unhappy men is, in sooth, a disgrace to the azure of the sky. Evil does not come from man, who is good at bottom. All human miseries have for their capital and central government hell, otherwise, known as the Devil's Tuileries. Good, here I am uttering demagogical words! As far as I am concerned, I have no longer any political opinions; let all me be rich, that is to say, mirthful, and I confine myself to that."
When, at the conclusion of all the ceremonies, after having pronounced before the mayor and before the priest all possible "yesses," after having signed the registers at the municipality and at the sacristy, after having exchanged their rings, after having knelt side by side under the pall of white moire in the smoke of the censer, they arrived, hand in hand, admired and envied by all, Marius in black, she in white, preceded by the suisse, with the epaulets of a colonel, tapping the pavement with his halberd, between two rows of astonished spectators, at the portals of the church, both leaves of which were thrown wide open, ready to enter their carriage again, and all being finished, Cosette still could not believe that it was real. She looked at Marius, she looked at the crowd, she looked at the sky: it seemed as though she feared that she should wake up from her dream. Her amazed and uneasy air added something indescribably enchanting to her beauty. They entered the same carriage to return home, Marius beside Cosette; M. Gillenormand and Jean Valjean sat opposite them; Aunt Gillenormand had withdrawn one degree, and was in the second vehicle.
"My children," said the grandfather, "here you are, Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne, with an income of thirty thousand livres."
And Cosette, nestling close to Marius, caressed his ear with an angelic whisper: "So it is true. My name is Marius. I am Madame Thou."
These two creatures were resplendent. They had reached that irrevocable and irrecoverable moment, at the dazzling intersection of all youth and all joy. They realized the verses of Jean Prouvaire; they were forty years old taken together. It was marriage sublimated; these two children were two lilies. They did not see each other, they did not contemplate each other. Cosette perceived Marius in the midst of a glory; Marius perceived Cosette on an altar. And on that altar, and in that glory, the two apotheoses mingling, in the background, one knows not how, behind a cloud for Cosette, in a flash for Marius, there was the ideal thing, the real thing, the meeting of the kiss and the dream, the nuptial pillow. All the torments through which they had passed came back to them in intoxication. It seemed to them that their sorrows, their sleepless nights, their tears, their anguish, their terrors, their despair, converted into caresses and rays of light, rendered still more charming the charming hour which was approaching; and that their griefs were but so many handmaidens who were preparing the toilet of joy. How good it is to have suffered! Their unhappiness formed a halo round their happiness. The long agony of their love was terminating in an ascension.
It was the same enchantment in two souls, tinged with voluptuousness in Marius, and with modesty in Cosette. They said to each other in low tones: "We will go back to take a look at our little garden in the Rue Plumet." The folds of Cosette's gown lay across Marius.
Such a day is an ineffable mixture of dream and of reality. One possesses and one supposes. One still has time before one to divine. The emotion on that day, of being at mid-day and of dreaming of midnight is indescribable. The delights of these two hearts overflowed upon the crowd, and inspired the passers-by with cheerfulness.
People halted in the Rue Saint-Antoine, in front of Saint-Paul, to gaze through the windows of the carriage at the orange-flowers quivering on Cosette's head.
Then they returned home to the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. Marius, triumphant and radiant, mounted side by side with Cosette the staircase up which he had been borne in a dying condition. The poor, who had trooped to the door, and who shared their purses, blessed them. There were flowers everywhere. The house was no less fragrant than the church; after the incense, roses. They thought they heard voices carolling in the infinite; they had God in their hearts; destiny appeared to them like a ceiling of stars; above their heads they beheld the light of a rising sun. All at once, the clock struck. Marius glanced at Cosette's charming bare arm, and at the rosy things which were vaguely visible through the lace of her bodice, and Cosette, intercepting Marius' glance, blushed to her very hair.
Quite a number of old family friends of the Gillenormand family had been invited; they pressed about Cosette. Each one vied with the rest in saluting her as Madame la Baronne.
The officer, Theodule Gillenormand, now a captain, had come from Chartres, where he was stationed in garrison, to be present at the wedding of his cousin Pontmercy. Cosette did not recognize him.
He, on his side, habituated as he was to have women consider him handsome, retained no more recollection of Cosette than of any other woman.
"How right I was not to believe in that story about the lancer!" said Father Gillenormand, to himself.
Cosette had never been more tender with Jean Valjean. She was in unison with Father Gillenormand; while he erected joy into aphorisms and maxims, she exhaled goodness like a perfume. Happiness desires that all the world should be happy.
She regained, for the purpose of addressing Jean Valjean, inflections of voice belonging to the time when she was a little girl. She caressed him with her smile.
A banquet had been spread in the dining-room.
Illumination as brilliant as the daylight is the necessary seasoning of a great joy. Mist and obscurity are not accepted by the happy. They do not consent to be black. The night, yes; the shadows, no. If there is no sun, one must be made.
The dining-room was full of gay things. In the centre, above the white and glittering table, was a Venetian lustre with flat plates, with all sorts of colored birds, blue, violet, red, and green, perched amid the candles; around the chandelier, girandoles, on the walls, sconces with triple and quintuple branches; mirrors, silverware, glassware, plate, porcelain, faience, pottery, gold and silversmith's work, all was sparkling and gay. The empty spaces between the candelabra were filled in with bouquets, so that where there was not a light, there was a flower.
In the antechamber, three violins and a flute softly played quartettes by Haydn.
Jean Valjean had seated himself on a chair in the drawing-room, behind the door, the leaf of which folded back upon him in such a manner as to nearly conceal him. A few moments before they sat down to table, Cosette came, as though inspired by a sudden whim, and made him a deep courtesy, spreading out her bridal toilet with both hands, and with a tenderly roguish glance, she asked him:
"Father, are you satisfied?"
"Yes," said Jean Valjean, "I am content!"
"Well, then, laugh."
Jean Valjean began to laugh.
A few moments later, Basque announced that dinner was served.
The guests, preceded by M. Gillenormand with Cosette on his arm, entered the dining-room, and arranged themselves in the proper order around the table.
Two large arm-chairs figured on the right and left of the bride, the first for M. Gillenormand, the other for Jean Valjean. M. Gillenormand took his seat. The other arm-chair remained empty.
They looked about for M. Fauchelevent.
He was no longer there.
M. Gillenormand questioned Basque.
"Do you know where M. Fauchelevent is?"
"Sir," replied Basque, "I do, precisely. M. Fauchelevent told me to say to you, sir, that he was suffering, his injured hand was paining him somewhat, and that he could not dine with Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne. That he begged to be excused, that he would come to-morrow. He has just taken his departure."
That empty arm-chair chilled the effusion of the wedding feast for a moment. But, if M. Fauchelevent was absent, M. Gillenormand was present, and the grandfather beamed for two. He affirmed that M. Fauchelevent had done well to retire early, if he were suffering, but that it was only a slight ailment.This declaration sufficed. Moreover, what is an obscure corner in such a submersion of joy? Cosette and Marius were passing through one of those egotistical and blessed moments when no other faculty is left to a person than that of receiving happiness. And then, an idea occurred to M. Gillenormand.--"Pardieu, this armchair is empty. Come hither, Marius. Your aunt will permit it, although she has a right to you. This armchair is for you. That is legal and delightful. Fortunatus beside Fortunata."-- Applause from the whole table. Marius took Jean Valjean's place beside Cosette, and things fell out so that Cosette, who had, at first, been saddened by Jean Valjean's absence, ended by being satisfied with it. From the moment when Marius took his place, and was the substitute, Cosette would not have regretted God himself. She set her sweet little foot, shod in white satin, on Marius' foot.
The arm-chair being occupied, M. Fauchelevent was obliterated; and nothing was lacking.
And, five minutes afterward, the whole table from one end to the other, was laughing with all the animation of forgetfulness.
At dessert, M. Gillenormand, rising to his feet, with a glass of champagne in his hand--only half full so that the palsy of his eighty years might not cause an overflow,--proposed the health of the married pair.
"You shall not escape two sermons," he exclaimed. "This morning you had one from the cure, this evening you shall have one from your grandfather. Listen to me; I will give you a bit of advice: Adore each other. I do not make a pack of gyrations, I go straight to the mark, be happy. In all creation, only the turtle-doves are wise. Philosophers say: Moderate your joys.' I say:`Give rein to your joys.' Be as much smitten with each other as fiends. Be in a rage about it. The philosophers talk stuff and nonsense. I should like to stuff their philosophy down their gullets again. Can there be too many perfumes, too many open rose-buds, too many nightingales singing, too many green leaves, too much aurora in life? Can people love each other too much? Can people please each other too much? Take care, Estelle, thou art too pretty! Have a care, Nemorin, thou art too handsome! Fine stupidity, in sooth! Can people enchant each other too much, cajole each other too much, charm each other too much? Can one be too much alive, too happy? Moderate your joys.Ah, indeed! Down with the philosophers! Wisdom consists in jubilation. Make merry, let us make merry. Are we happy because we are good, or are we good because we are happy? Is the Sancy diamond called the Sancy because it belonged to Harley de Sancy, or because it weighs six hundred carats? I know nothing about it, life is full of such problems; the important point is to possess the Sancy and happiness. Let us be happy without quibbling and quirking. Let us obey the sun blindly. What is the sun? It is love. He who says love, says woman. Ah! Ah! Behold omnipotence--women. Ask that demagogue of a Marius if he is not the slave of that little tyrant of a Cosette. And of his own free will, too, the coward! Woman! There is no Robespierre who keeps his place but woman reigns. I am no longer Royalist except towards that royalty. What is Adam? The kingdom of Eve. No '89 for Eve. There has been the royal sceptre surmounted by a fleur-de-lys, there has been the imperial sceptre surmounted by a globe, there has been the sceptre of Charlemagne, which was of iron, there has been the sceptre of Louis the Great, which was of gold,-- the revolution twisted them between its thumb and forefinger, ha'penny straws; it is done with, it is broken, it lies on the earth, there is no longer any sceptre, but make me a revolution against that little embroidered handkerchief, which smells of patchouli! I should like to see you do it. Try. Why is it so solid? Because it is a gewgaw. Ah! You are the nineteenth century? Well, what then? And we have been as foolish as you. Do not imagine that you have effected much change in the universe, because your trip-gallant is called the cholera-morbus, and because your pourree is called the cachuca. In fact, the women must always be loved. I defy you to escape from that. These friends are our angels. Yes, love, woman, the kiss formsa circle from which I defy you to escape; and, for my own part, I should be only too happy to re-enter it. Which of you has
seen the planet Venus, the coquette of the abyss, the Celimene of the ocean, rise in the infinite, calming all here below? The ocean is a rough Alcestis. Well, grumble as he will, when Venus appears he is forced to smile. That brute beast submits. We are all made so. Wrath, tempest, claps of thunder, foam to the very ceiling. A woman enters on the scene, a planet rises; flat on your face! Marius was fighting six months ago; to-day he is married. That is well. Yes, Marius, yes, Cosette, you are in the right. Exist boldly for each other, make us burst with rage that we cannot do the same, idealize each other, catch in your beaks all the tiny blades of felicity that exist on earth, and arrange yourselves a nest for life. Pardi, to love, to be loved, what a fine miracle when one is young! Don't imagine that you have invented that. I, too, have had my dream, I, too, have meditated, I, too, have sighed; I, too, have had a moonlight soul. Love is a child six thousand years old. Love has the right to a long white beard. Methusalem is a street arab beside Cupid. For sixty centuries men and women have got out of their scrape by loving. The devil, who is cunning, took to hating man; man, who is still more cunning, took to loving woman. In this way he does more good than the devil does him harm. This craft was discovered in the days of the terrestrial paradise. The invention is old, my friends, but it is perfectly new. Profit by it. Be Daphnis and Chloe, while waiting to become Philemon and Baucis. Manage so that, when you are with each other, nothing shall be lacking to you, and that Cosette may be the sun for Marius, and that Marius may be the universe to Cosette. Cosette, let your fine weather be the smile of your husband; Marius, let your rain be your wife's tears. And let it never rain in your household. You have filched the winning number in the lottery; you have gained the great prize, guard it well, keep it under lock and key, do not squander it, adore each other and snap your fingers at all the rest. Believe what I say to you. It is good sense. And good sense cannot lie. Be a religion to each other. Each man has his own fashion of adoring God. Saperlotte! The best way to adore God is to love one's wife. I love thee! That's my catechism. He who loves is orthodox. The oath of Henri IV. Places sanctity somewhere between feasting and drunkenness. Ventre-saint-gris! I don't belong to the religion of that oath. Woman is forgotten in it. This astonishes me on the part of Henri IV. My friends, long live women! I am old, they say; It's astonishing how much I feel in the mood to be young. I should like to go and listen to the bagpipes in the woods. Children who contrive to be beautiful and contented,--that intoxicates me. I would like greatly to get married, if any one would have me. It is impossible to imagine that God could have made us for anything but this:to idolize, to coo, to preen ourselves, to be dove-like, to be dainty, to bill and coo our loves from morn to night, to gaze at one's image in one's little wife, to be proud, to be triumphant, to plume oneself; that is the aim of life. There, let not that displease you which we used to think in our day, when we were young folks. Ah! Vertu-bamboche! What charming women there were in those days, and what pretty little faces and what lovely lasses! I committed my ravages among them. Then love each other. If people did not love each other, I really do not see what use there would be in having any springtime; and for my own part, I should pray the good God to shut up all the beautiful things that he shows us, and to take away from us and put back in his box, the flowers, the birds, and the pretty maidens. My children, receive an old man's blessing.
The evening was gay, lively and agreeable. The grandfather's sovereign good humor gave the key-note to the whole feast, and each person regulated his conduct on that almost centenarian cordiality. They danced a little, they laughed a great deal; it was an amiable wedding. Goodman Days of Yore might have been invited to it. However, he was present in the person of Father Gillenormand.
There was a tumult, then silence.
The married pair disappeared.
A little after midnight, the Gillenormand house became a temple.
Here we pause. On the threshold of wedding nights stands a smiling angel with his finger on his lips.
The soul enters into contemplation before that sanctuary where the celebration of love takes place.
There should be flashes of light athwart such houses. The joy which they contain ought to make its escape through the stones of the walls in brilliancy, and vaguely illuminate the gloom. It is impossible that this sacred and fatal festival should not give off a celestial radiance to the infinite. Love is the sublime crucible wherein the fusion of the man and the woman takes place; the being one, the being triple, the being final, the human trinity proceeds from it. This birth of two souls into one, ought to be an emotion for the gloom. The lover is the priest; the ravished virgin is terrified. Something of that joy ascends to God. Where true marriage is, that is to say, where there is love, the ideal enters in. A nuptial bed makes a nook of dawn amid the shadows. If it were given to the eye of the flesh to scan the formidable and charming visions of the upper life, it is probable that we should behold the forms of night, the winged unknowns, the blue passers of the invisible, bend down, a throng of sombre heads,around the luminous house, satisfied, showering benedictions, pointing out to each other the virgin wife gently alarmed, sweetly terrified, and bearing the reflection of human bliss upon their divine countenances. If at that supreme hour, the wedded pair, dazzled with voluptuousness and believing themselves alone, were to listen, they would hear in their chamber a confused rustling of wings. Perfect happiness implies a mutual understanding with the angels. That dark little chamber has all heaven for its ceiling. When two mouths, rendered sacred by love, approach to create, it is impossible that there should not be, above that ineffable kiss, a quivering throughout the immense mystery of stars.
These felicities are the true ones. There is no joy outside of these joys. Love is the only ecstasy. All the rest weeps.
To love, or to have loved,--this suffices. Demand nothing more. There is no other pearl to be found in the shadowy folds of life. To love is a fulfilment.
实现自己的梦想，谁有这种可能呢？为此上天一定要进行选择；我们都是没有意识到的候选人；天使在投票。珂赛特和马吕斯中选了。
珂赛特在市*和教堂里艳丽夺目，非常动人。这是杜桑在妮珂莱特的帮助下替她打扮的。
珂赛特在白色软缎衬裙上面，穿着班希产的镂空花边的连衣裙，披着英国的针织花面纱，带着一串圆润的珍珠项链和戴着一顶桔子花的花冠；这一切都是洁白无瑕，这种雅净的装饰使珂赛特容光焕发。这是绝妙的天真在光明中扩展而且神化了，好象一个贞女正在幻变成为天仙。
马吕斯的美发光亮又芳香，在鬈发下好几处地方可以看到街垒给他带来的几条浅色伤痕。
外祖父华贵而神气，他的服装和姿态高度集中了巴拉斯①时代所有的优雅举止，他引着珂赛特。他代替吊着绷带不能搀扶新娘的冉阿让。
①巴拉斯（Paul Barras，1755-1829），子爵，国民公会军司令，督*的督政官。
冉阿让穿着黑色礼服，含笑跟在后面。
“割风先生，”外祖父向他说，“这是好日子。我投票表决悲痛和忧伤的结束，从今以后任何地方不应再有愁苦存在。我对天发誓！我颁布快乐！苦难没有理由存在。事实上现在还有不幸的人，这是上天的耻辱。痛苦不是人造成的，人的本性是善良的。一切痛苦的首府和**就是地狱，换句话说，就是魔鬼的杜伊勒里宫。好呀，现在我也说起盅惑人心的话来啦！至于我，我已没有政治见解；但愿大家都富裕，就是说都愉快，我只要求这一点。”
所有的仪式都进行了：对市*和神父的问题的无数次“是”的回答，在市*和教堂的登记册上签了字，交换了结婚戒指，在香烟缭绕中双双并排跪在白色皱纹布的伞盖下，这之后他们这才手搀手，被大家赞美羡慕。马吕斯穿着黑色礼服，她是一身白，前面是带着上校肩章的教堂侍卫开道，用手中的戟跺响石板，他们走在两列赞叹的来宾中间，从教堂两扇大开着的门里走出来，一切都已结束，准备上车的时候，珂赛特还不相信这是真的。她看看马吕斯，看看大家，看看天，害怕醒来似的。她那种既惊讶又担心的神情，为她增添了一种说不出的魅力。回去时，马吕斯和珂赛特并肩同坐一车；吉诺曼先生和冉阿让坐在他们对面，吉诺曼姨妈退了一级，坐在第二辆车里。“我的孩子，”外祖父说，“你们现在是男爵先生和男爵夫人了，有三万利弗的年金。”于是珂赛特紧挨着马吕斯，在他耳边用天使般的妙音轻声说：“原来是真的。我叫马吕斯，我是‘你’夫人。”
这两个人容光焕发，他们正处在一去不复返、再难寻觅的一刹那，也就是处在整个青春和一切欢乐的光耀炫目的交叉点上。他们实现了让·勃鲁维尔的诗句所说的“他俩相加还不到四十岁”。这是崇高的结合，这两个孩子是两朵百合花。他们不是相互注视，而是相互礼拜。珂赛特觉得马吕斯是在荣光中；马吕斯感到珂赛特是在圣坛上。而在这圣坛上和在这荣光中，这两个神化了的人，其实已不知怎么合而为一了，对珂赛特来说是处在一层彩云之后，对马吕斯来说，则处在火焰般的光芒中。那里有着理想的东西，真实的东西，这就是接吻和梦幻般的相会，以及新婚的枕席。
他们经历过的苦难，回忆起来真令人陶醉。他们觉得现在已成为爱抚和光明的一切悲伤、失眠、流泪、忧虑、惊慌和失望，好象在使即将到来的令人喜悦的时刻变得更有魅力；对欢乐而言，好象悲伤已起到陪衬的作用。受过折磨是何等有益！他们的不幸构成了幸福的光圈。长期恋爱的苦闷使他们的感情升华了。
两个人的心灵同样感到销魂荡魄，马吕斯稍带点情欲，珂赛特则有点羞怯。他们轻声说：“我们再去卜吕梅街看看我们的小花园。”珂赛特的衣服折裥搭在马吕斯的身上。
这样的一天是梦幻和现实的混合。既占有却又是假设。目前还有时间来猜测。这一天，在中午去梦想午夜的情景是一种无法形容的激动情绪。两颗心里都洋溢着动人的幸福，使过路人也感到了轻松愉快。
行人在圣安东尼街圣保罗教堂前面停下来，为了透过马车的玻璃，看桔子花在珂赛特的头上颤动。
然后他们回到受难修女街家中。马吕斯与珂赛特胜利欢乐地并排走上过去人们在它上面拖回垂死的马吕斯的楼梯。穷人们聚集在门口分享他们的施舍，并且祝福新婚夫妇。到处都插满鲜花。家里象教堂里一样充满着芳香；在神香之后现在是玫瑰花。他们似乎听到天上有歌声；上帝在他们心中；他们的前途好象满天的星斗；他们看见了一道初升的阳光在头上闪耀。忽然时钟响了。马吕斯注视着珂赛特那裸露的迷人的粉臂和透过上衣的花边隐约可见的红润的地方，珂赛特察觉了马吕斯的目光，羞得面红耳赤。
很多吉诺曼家的老友都应邀而来，大家围着珂赛特，争先恐后地称她男爵夫人。
军官忒阿杜勒·吉诺曼，现在是上尉了，从他的部队驻扎地夏尔特尔来参加表弟彭眉胥的婚礼，珂赛特没有认出他来。
他呢，对妇女们称他为美男子已习以为常，一点也想不起珂赛特或其他任何女人。
“我幸好没有相信关于这个长矛兵的流言。”吉诺曼老爹心里暗想道。
对冉阿让，珂赛特从没有过此刻这样的温柔和体贴。她和吉诺曼老爹也和协一致；在他把快乐当作箴言准则的同时，如同香气一样她全身也散发着爱和善。幸福的人希望大家都幸福。
她和冉阿让谈话时，又用她幼年时的语气，对他微笑着表示亲热。
一桌酒席设在饭厅里。
亮如白昼的照明是盛大喜宴不可缺的点缀品。欢乐的人不能容忍昏暗和模糊不清。他们不愿呆在黑暗里。夜里，可以；
黑暗，不行。如果没有太阳，就得创造一个。
饭厅是一个摆满赏心悦目物品的大熔炉。正中，在雪白耀眼的饭桌的上方，吊着一盏威尼斯产的金属片制的烛台，上面有着各色的鸟：蓝的，紫的，红的，绿的，都栖息在蜡烛中间；在吊着的烛台四周有多枝的烛台，墙上挂有三重和五重的枝形壁灯反射镜；玻璃、水晶、玻璃器皿，餐具、瓷器、陶器、瓦器、金银器皿，一切都光彩夺目，玲珑可爱。烛台的空隙处，插满了花束，因此，没有烛光的地方就有花朵。
在候见室里有三把小提琴和一支笛子在轻声演奏着海顿的四重奏。
冉阿让坐在客厅里一张靠椅上，在门背后，这敞着的门几乎把他遮住了。上桌吃饭前片刻，珂赛特心血来潮，用双手把她的新娘礼服展开，向他行了个屈膝大礼，她带着温柔而调皮的目光问他：
“父亲，你高兴吗？”
冉阿让说：“我很高兴。”
“那你就笑一笑吧！”
冉阿让就笑起来了。
几分钟以后，巴斯克通知筵席已准备好了。
吉诺曼先生让珂赛特挽着他的手臂走在前面，和跟在后面的宾客一同进入餐厅，大家根据指定的位子，在桌旁入座。
两张大安乐椅摆在新娘的左右两旁。
第一张是吉诺曼先生的，第二张是冉阿让的。吉诺曼先生坐下了。另一张还空着。
大家的目光都在寻找“割风先生”。
他已不在了。
吉诺曼先生问巴斯克：
“你知道割风先生在哪儿吗？”
“老爷，”巴斯克回答，“正是割风先生叫我告诉老爷，他受了伤的手有点痛，他不能陪男爵先生和男爵夫人用餐，他请大家原谅他，他明天早晨来。他刚刚离去。”
这个空着的安乐椅，使喜宴上有片刻感到扫兴。割风先生缺席，但有吉诺曼先生在，外祖父兴致勃勃能抵两个人。他明确地说如果割风先生感到不舒服，那最好早点上床休息，又说，这只是轻微的一点“疼痛”。这点说明够了。更何况在一片欢乐中一个阴暗的角落又算得了什么？珂赛特和马吕斯正处在自私和受祝福的时刻，此时人除了见到幸福之外已没有其他能力了。于是吉诺曼先生灵机一动，“嗨，这椅子空着，你来，马吕斯。虽然按理你应坐在你姨妈旁边，但她会允许你坐过来的。这椅子是属于你的了。这是合法而且亲切的，如同财神挨近了福星。”全桌一致鼓掌。马吕斯便占了珂赛特旁边冉阿让的位子；经过这样的安排，珂赛特本来因冉阿让不在而不乐，结果却感到满意。既然马吕斯当了后补，珂赛特连上帝不在也不会惋惜的。她把她那柔软的穿着白缎鞋的小脚放在马吕斯的脚上。
椅子有人坐了，割风先生已被忘却；大家并不感到有什么欠缺。于是五分钟后，全桌的来宾已经笑逐颜开，什么都忘了。
餐后上水果点心时，吉诺曼先生起立，手中举着一杯不大满的香槟，这是因为他那九十二岁的高龄怕手颤而使酒溢出，他向新婚夫妇祝酒。
“你们逃避不了两次训戒，”他大声说，“早晨你们接受了教士的，晚上要接受外祖父的。听我说，我要劝告你们：‘你们相爱吧！’我不来搬弄一堆华丽的词藻，我直截了当地说，‘你们幸福吧！’天地万物没有比斑鸠更聪明的了。哲学家说欢乐要有分寸。我却说：‘要尽情欢乐，要象魔鬼那样热恋，如痴如醉。’哲学家是在胡诌，我要把他们的哲学塞回到他们的喉咙里去。人们难道会嫌芳香过分，玫瑰花开得过多，歌唱的黄莺太多，翠叶太多，生命中的清晨太多吗？难道人会爱得过火？难道双方会相互喜欢得过火？注意，爱丝特尔，你太美丽了！小心，内莫朗，你太漂亮了！这纯粹是蠢话！难道相互会过分迷恋、过分爱抚、过分使对方陶醉吗？难道生命的活力会过多？幸福会过分？欢乐要节制。呸！打倒哲学家！欢天喜地就是智慧。你们兴高采烈吧，让我们兴高采烈吧！我们感到幸福难道是由于我们善良？还是正因为我们是幸福的所以我们也是善良的呢？桑西所以被称作桑西，是因为它属于哈勒·德·桑西①呢还是因为它重一百○六克拉呢？关于这我一点也不知道；生活中充满了这类难题；重要的是去获得桑西和幸福。幸福吧！不要挑剔，要盲目地服从太阳。太阳是什么，就是爱情呀。提到爱情，就是指女人。啊！啊！无上权威就在这儿，这就是女人。你们问问这个*的马吕斯，他是不是珂赛特这个小暴君的奴仆。他是心甘情愿的，这胆小鬼！女人！没有站得住脚的罗伯斯庇尔，还是女人*。我也只是这个王党的保王党员了。亚当是什么？他是夏娃的王国，对夏娃来说，是没有一七八九年的。有的君主权杖上有朵百合花，有的装着一个地球，查理曼大帝的权杖是铁的，路易十四的是金的，革命把这些权杖用大拇指和食指折断了，好象两文钱的麦秆一样拧弯了，完蛋了，断了，都倒在地上了，不再有权杖了；但是你们给我来造造这块香草味的绣花小手帕的反吧！我倒想瞧瞧你们敢不敢。试试吧。它为什么结实？因为是块布头。啊！你们是属于十九世纪的？那又怎么样呢？我们是属于十八世纪的！我们和你们一样愚蠢。你们管霍乱叫流行性霍乱，称奥弗涅舞蹈为卡朱沙。不要以为你们因此就使宇宙有多大改变，永远都得爱女人。我不信你们能摆脱得了。这些女魔是我们的天使。不错，爱情、女子、接吻，这个圈子你们跳不出来；至于我，我还想钻进去呢。你们之中谁曾见过，金星在天空升起，她是这个深渊上卖弄风情的女郎②。海洋里的色里曼纳，她安抚着下方的一切，好象一个美女在俯视狂涛。海洋是一个粗暴的阿尔赛斯特。它嘟囔也没用，维纳斯一露面，它就得喜笑颜开。这只野兽就被驯服了。我们大家都是这样的忿怒，咆哮，霹雳，怒气冲天。一个女人登上舞台，一颗星星升起，就都服服帖帖了！马吕斯六个月之前还在战斗，今天他结婚了。做得好。不错，马吕斯，对了，珂赛特，你们做得对。你们勇敢地为对方生存吧，特别亲昵，使别人因不能这样做而气得发疯，你们互相崇拜吧！用你们小小的鸟喙拾起地上所有的幸福草，设法用它做成你们一辈子的安乐窝。啊！恋爱，被爱，年轻时候的奇迹！你们不要以为这是你们发明的。我也曾有过幻梦、冥想和叹息，我也曾有过浪漫的心灵。爱神是一个六千岁的小孩。爱神有权长一口长长的白胡须，玛土撒拉在丘比特面前只是一个孩子。六十个世纪以来男女相爱，解决了一切问题，魔鬼，这个狡猾的东西，憎恨男子，男子比他更狡猾，去爱上女子。因此他得到的好处超过魔鬼给他的坏处。这种巧妙的事，自从开天辟地以来就存在了。朋友们，这个发明已经陈旧，可是它还很新颖。你们利用这个发明吧！你们目前可以是达夫尼斯和克罗埃③，将来你们再成为菲利门和波息司④。当你们在一起时，就应该一无所需，珂赛特要成为马吕斯的太阳，马吕斯要成为珂赛特的天地。珂赛特，你的艳阳天就是马吕斯的微笑；马吕斯，你的雨水就是妻子的泪珠，要使你们夫妻生活中永远不下雨。你们的爱情得到宗教的祝福，你们抽到了一个好签，是头彩，要好好保存，锁起来，不要浪费掉，要互敬互爱，此外可以不闻不问。相信我说的话。这是理智的。理智不会骗人。你们要象敬神一样相互敬重。每个人崇拜上帝的方式不同。见鬼！最高明的敬仰上帝的方式，就是爱自己的妻子。我爱你，这就是我的教理。谁爱，谁就是正教派。亨利四世的渎神话是把神圣放在盛宴和陶醉之间。‘畜生！⑤’我不信奉这句粗话的宗教。因为其中女人被忘却了。我很诧异亨利四世的*的话竟会是这个。朋友们，女人万岁！据人说我是老了；我感到多么奇怪自己正越活越年轻。我很想到树林里去听听风笛。这两个孩子都是美而愉快的，这使我陶醉。我也千真万确地想结婚，如果有人愿意的话。不能设想上帝创造我们是为了别的原因，而不是为了*地爱，情话绵绵，精心打扮，当小宝贝，做最受女人赞赏的人，从早到晚亲吻爱人，为自己的爱妻自豪，得意洋洋，炫耀自负；这就是生活的目的。这些就是棗希望不要见怪棗我们那个时代，当我们是年轻人时的想法。啊！我发誓！那个时代迷人的女子可多啦，标致的面庞，年轻的少女！我使她们神魂颠倒。因此你们相爱吧。如果不相爱，我真不懂春天有什么用；至于我，我请求上帝，把他给我们看的一切美好的东西都拿回去，收藏起来，重新把花朵、小鸟、美女放进他的宝盒。孩子们，来接受一个老人的祝福吧！”
①尼古拉·哈勒·德·桑西（Nicolas Harlay de Sancy，1546-1629），法国行政长官，有一颗五十三克拉重的钻石，这颗钻石即名桑西。又桑西与法语中“一百○六”（cent six）同音，故后面引出一百○六克拉之语。
②维纳斯是罗马神话里爱和美的女神，在法语中又指金星。
③达夫尼斯（Daphnis）和克罗埃（Chloé），希腊小说《达夫尼斯和克罗埃》中的主人公。
④菲利门（Philémon）和波息司（Baucis），神话中人物，象征夫妇恩爱，长寿，同生同死。
⑤这是亨利四世惯用的骂人的话，法文是“肚子－圣人－醉”（ventreBsaintBgris）。
这一晚过得轻松愉快而亲切。外祖父极为舒畅的心情为节日定了调，每个人都为这将近一百岁老人的热诚而行事，大家跳了一会舞，笑声不绝；这是一个亲切的婚礼。真可以邀请“往昔”这位好好先生来参加。其实吉诺曼老爹也就等于是“昔日”这位好好先生了。
有过活跃热闹的场面，现在安静下来了。
新婚夫妇不见了。
午夜刚过，吉诺曼的屋子变成了一所庙宇。
到这里我们止步了。在新婚之夜的房门前，有一个微笑的天使站着，用一个手指按在唇边。
在这欢庆爱情的圣地之前，心灵进入了冥想的境界。
屋子的顶上肯定有微光在闪烁。屋里充满着喜悦的光芒，一定会从墙头的石缝中透露出来，把黑暗微微划破。这个命中注定的圣洁的喜事，不可能不放射出一道神光到太空中去。爱情是融合男人和女人的卓越的熔炉，单一的人，三人一体，最后的人，凡人的三位一体由此产生。两个心灵和合的诞生，一定会感动幽灵。情人是教士；被夺走的处女感到惊恐。这种欢乐多少会传送到上帝那里。真正的崇高的婚姻，即爱情的结合，就有着理想的境界。一张新婚的床在黑夜里是一角黎明，如果允许肉眼看见这些可畏而又迷人的上天的形象，我们可能见到夜里的那些形体，长着翅膀的陌生人，看不见的蓝色的旅客，弯着腰，一簇黑影似的人头，在发光的房屋的周围，他们感到满意，祝福新婚夫妇，互相指着处女新娘，他们也略感紧张，他们神圣的容貌上有着人间幸福的反照。新婚夫妇在至高无上的销魂极乐时刻，认为没有他人在旁，如果倾耳谛听，他们就可以听见簌簌的纷乱的翅膀声。完美的幸福引来了天使的共同的关怀。在这间黑暗的小寝室上面，有整个天空作为房顶。当两人的嘴唇，被爱情所纯化，为了创造而互相接近时，在这个无法形容的接吻上空，辽阔而神秘的繁星，不会没有一阵震颤。
这幸福是真实不虚的，除了这一欢乐外没有其他的欢乐。
唯独爱令人感到心醉神迷。此外一切都是可悲可泣的。
爱和曾爱过，这就够了。不必再作其他希求。在生活的黑暗褶子里，是找不到其他的珍珠的。爱是完满的幸福。
