road_to_calvary | (no subject)

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It is early May, but you would not know it in this cellar. The place is as cold as ever, it smells damp, and the usual guard against the stone's natural chill - the fire - is gone. Valjean stares at the place where it should be; he is quite still, but his mind is working furiously.

Yesterday he had stayed a long time. Basque had to come twice to inform Cosette that dinner was served, and the family was waiting. This must have to do with that, they are trying to tell him something, they are reminding him that he is here by their grace alone.

But, wait. No, that is too much. In an instant, the truth comes to him. 'Ah,' he says, to himself. 'It is perfectly simple. The cold weather has ceased.’ And why should they need a fire, indeed? It is quite warm outside, quite pleasant. That must be the answer.

He remains a little uneasy, and does not sit down at first. It is too cold for Cosette, to be sure. But he knows she will come, and so would not think of leaving.

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Basque tells her: Monsieur Fauchelevent is here. Her father -- but he won't hear her call him that any more, he insists on Monsieur Jean, he insists that she needs no father now that she has a husband. She can't bear to argue and argue and get only cold distance in response. So she tries to think of him this way when he comes to visit. Monsieur Jean is here.

(Maybe her mother will persuade him, in Milliways. Oh, how she hopes. But it hasn't worked yet, and she trusts her mother; she'll wait, she'll let her try to talk sense into him where Cosette failed.)

So she comes downstairs into the dirty little cellar he insists on. "Heavens!" she cries, wishing she'd thought to tuck a shawl about her shoulders. "How cold it is here!"

She'll just dart back up to tell Basque to build up the fire. It's a stone cellar, it's too cold and dark without a fire, and why should she need a shawl inside her own house?

'Why, no.'

He offers a smile by way of greeting, and bows to her a little.

'Madame, good evening. I am glad to see you.'

Perhaps that is too familiar. He chides himself, but it seems impolite not to say it.

Cosette smiles brightly up at him. "And I am always glad to see you, monsieur."

She nearly doesn't even have to stop herself saying father, anymore. She thinks it, every time, but she's learned not to say it.

He's always had his whims. And she did marry; she loves Marius so, she'd have married even if she'd known the heartbreaking price of it. So she certainly ought to be able to smile, and call her papa (who isn't her father, even if he is her father) whatever he insists on.

Her smile drops away into a look of friendly suspicion. "Was it you who told Basque not to make a fire, then?"

His heart warms at the smile, and her kind words. It yearns towards her, and he takes half a step back so that he might resist the pull of her. To embrace her would be too much.

'Yes, since we are now in the month of May.'

He can feel the chill air brush across his cheeks, and there is no escaping the smell of damp. But he gives every impression of standing in the sunshine, untouched by temperatures of either kind.

How he draws away from her!

It breaks her heart. Very well, she won't try for more pleasantries, she won't try to embrace him.

"But we have a fire until June," she protests. "One is needed all the year in this cellar."

She knows he has these eccentricities, he tries to live in a bare room on black bread and water, he chooses a little outbuilding in place of a nice house, but this is her house now. He lets her have her way in her own house. And it really is chilly here.

'I thought that a fire was unnecessary.'

He speaks as though it is the most natural thing in the world, to stand here in the cold and conduct a civil conversation.

'If I am wrong, madame, I beg pardon. I am sure Basque will make one if you desire. Or I will; just say the word.'

Madame, madame, je vous demande pardon -- sometimes it makes her wild.

She makes herself laugh, instead. He's an eccentric, very well. This is all normal, isn't it? Perfectly normal.

And, in truth, it's starting to become so.

"That is exactly like one of your ideas," she informs him, laughing and exasperated at once.

"Oh, if you insist, Monsieur Jean, very well, we'll have no fire today. But I think it's silly. Very well. How are you?"

Her laugh could cure any malady, and it certainly lifts his spirits. He smiles a little, and puts his hat on the arm of one of the chairs. He will not sit until she does, but now that moment has been traversed there is no reason to stand holding it.

'I am well, thank you. And yourself? The Baron?'

It is always easy to start a conversation around Marius.

Cosette brightens immediately. "Oh, we're both very well. Marius is wonderful. You remember how we used to go for walks in the Luxembourg Gardens, you and I. Marius took me there this morning, we walked down that path with buttercups everywhere about the grass. It was so lovely!"

Yes, he remembers that they used to go for walks in the Luxembourg.

'It was good of him to take you - I recall he used to enjoy the gardens as well. They are a fine spot for walking, true enough, and then it is spring, it must be very beautiful. I should think your own gardens will grow buttercups if you should want it, they are not very hard to encourage. You should take a gardener, Madame, and have all the flowers you want, it would look very fine.'

Perhaps I'll hire you, she nearly teases, but she bites it back. Why force him to reject her again? He's made his position clear.

Talking to her father is so exhausting these days. Nothing is easy like it used to be.

"I have my two hands," she says instead, lightly, and holds them out to regard them. She's wearing little lace gloves, and she's very fond of the pretty way they look. "And I have Marius! He had a friend who gardened once, you know, he told me so. Perhaps we'll grow our own buttercups. What do you think of that?"

She's not sure she could bear to have a gardener bustling about the garden with no bell on his knee, no fatherly smile for her, only a hired stranger tipping his hat to her and calling her madame. If she hadn't had to give up her father when she gained a husband it would be different; then she'd be hiring someone to be a help to him, it would be a present, everything would be different.

Anyway she likes the wildflowers that run riot, too.

He wonders briefly whether she means Marius had a friend once, who gardened, or a friend who gardened on one occasion, but it does not matter. The sound of her voice is more important than what she says.

'I am sure he knows all about it. He is very clever, is he not? If there is anything he does not know, I'm sure he would learn it very quickly.'

Those gloves suit her very well. He thinks perhaps he has seen them before, and it is strange, is it not, that a woman of Cosette's means should not have an entire cupboard full of gloves by now.

"He is! You're quite right. I think he's the cleverest man I've ever met -- the cleverest I can imagine. He would learn very fast. I don't know if he truly wants to garden, but perhaps he would. Do you think he would like that? If he did want it he'd certainly learn the best way of it very fast." She laughs. "He would be nose-deep in a book until he did. He taught himself English and German from books, you know! Can you imagine? Buttercups are much easier than that."

'Taught himself? That is very impressive. I think he must be a genius.'

This is entirely truthful. Valjean once tried to teach himself English from a book, out of some idea that he might go to England one day. But he could not manage it; it was before Cosette, and he could never make himself believe that he would ever actually leave France. Looking back, he does not know what all those travel books were for.

'He may enjoy working with his hands. It is hard to know unless he tries it, but I have no doubt he can turn himself to anything.'

Valjean can imagine Marius focusing very hard to learn. Whether he would have the earth in his bones, he cannot guess, but why should he not?

'I expect he would like growing things for you.'

Cosette glows at the praise for Marius. He is a genius, isn't he? Her lovely, ridiculous, awkward, courageous, brilliant husband.

"Perhaps! It would be nice if the garden were more colorful. I like it as it is, but it could be nicer. Perhaps I'll ask him what he thinks of it."

Valjean considers that Marius has probably barely noticed he has a garden at all, and an instant later knows that as soon as Cosette mentions her interest, the young man will become devoted to the idea of improving it to her tastes. No one can say they do not do their utmost to make each other happy, and he can love Marius for that. Combeferre's words from the bar float back to him, and they have never seemed more alien. Marius, hurt Cosette? It is unthinkable.

A thought of the magic bar makes Valjean consider Fantine, and whether he should mention that he has seen her. But the whole thing is so immense, so complicated, he does not want to touch it if he does not have to.

'His grandfather will have an opinion too, I expect. Do you speak to him much? I trust he is keeping well.'

Cosette laughs lightly. "He loves to have opinions! Yes, he seems very well. He's always full of energy."

She hasn't quite figured out how much she likes him, truly. But she feels bad every time she thinks anything like that; he's Marius's grandfather, and he's given them so much and so cheerfully, and she ought to love him. So she will, and they will be a happy family in a happy household, even if her father refuses to be part of it.

And perhaps her mother will be able to persuade him, after all. She can hope, and that will help her not push for what he won't give right now.

'He is a good man, indeed. He has your interests at heart; I should think there is nothing he will not do for you, and the Baron.'

Valjean has not formed an opinion on Monsieur Gillenormand, because he does not have to. The man is there, he has opened his house, he has declared an end to sadness. The house must therefore be a joyous place, nothing like the solitude and gloom in which Cosette was raised. He cannot see that it might ever not be happy.

'It is a very fine place, and all those dresses he gave you, and the wedding! Your husband looked very fine in his suit, did he not?'

And there, see: her father likes Grandfather Gillenormand too.

Cosette glows. "He did. He is the handsomest man I've ever known, the handsomest man I've seen, don't you think so?"

'I do. And he dresses in a fine manner, which becomes his status. He will do very well if he returns to the law, with his bearing and his intelligence. A man to instill confidence in any client; if he wishes it, he will be very successful.'

One thing Valjean does know, is that the more he talks about Marius and his qualities, the longer he can stay and talk with Cosette. She is always willing to sit and extol on his perfection.

So many of their old subjects of conversation are difficult now; her father won't be easy, he calls her Madame and vous, he won't be her father. But this is still easy: they can talk of Marius.

"I don't know if he plans to take up law again. We haven't spoken of it. But you're quite right. He would be very good! He's good at anything he turns his hand to. You're perfectly right that clients would be impressed, they'd be pleased to have such a man helping them."

Her face lights up so when she talks of her husband. It reminds him of when she were small, and would run to see him in the convent garden every day. She had no other thought than to spend her hour in his company alone, chattering away about her friends and the things she had learned, all the plants she could touch and the things she could see. His heart twists in his chest, but it is not all sad. She is sitting with him now, and still smiles at him, and though he is a wretch for allowing her to remain chained to him at all, he cannot feel anything but pleasure at being in her presence.

'He would be a force for good. All of society would choose him when they needed help, though of course if he does not want to practice, it is all very well. You will have him to yourself and run your house together, and be very happy. He will look after you, and have the servants run after you and make sure you have everything you need. I expect he will take a box at the theatre for you, if you wish, and a carriage to take you about the city. There will be no enjoyment you cannot share.'

"We are so very happy. He's wonderful, he's the best of husbands. But you, monsieur, you're always so funny about carriages! I don't need a carriage. We have feet and it's springtime."

Don't you miss our walks, don't you ever want to walk with me anymore, won't you be my papa--

"But of course you're right, everything will be joy and enjoyment. It already is, you know, I'm very happy. Perhaps it's selfish of me to be glad to have Marius to myself, but I'm happy to be selfish, if so! About my dear Marius, I'm glad to be."

'And he is that kind of selfish too; it is good to see, I would not wish any less for you.'

He pulls himself up as soon as the words leave his mouth. They are too personal, and he has no right to express such a wish as if she were his own flesh and blood.

'A carriage is your choice, of course, but there is no reason you should not have one. You are rich, and money will only add to your lives. At least when the summer is over. But the weather is fine, as you say. No doubt there is time enough.'

He wants more than anything to see them enjoying their wealth.

Cosette beams at the well-wishing. She's never doubted it: whatever the distance and coldness he gives her now, whatever is going on in his head, whatever she's done or whatever marriage means to him (or to all of fine society?) that means he won't be anything but a formal Monsieur Jean to her -- in spite of all that, she's always known that he only wants the best for her. It makes everything bearable.

But it's always wealth and fripperies with him: he wants her to have everything fine, even when it's silly, even when she doesn't need it. Expensive presents from Grandfather Gillenormand, and urgings to buy anything he thinks a fine lady might like from Monsieur Jean, while he tells her household not to light the fire she wants lit. She finds a laugh: "We never had a carriage, monsieur! I like to walk. I like to see the city, on my husband's arm. Why should I shut such a fine fellow away in a carriage, when I can walk arm in arm with him in the sun?"

She finds a laugh, but it's tiring. Perhaps Basque will call her soon to dinner. Marius is quiet, and dear, like her father, and unlike her father she doesn't have to work to remind him to love her.

He chastises himself at the sight of that smile. He must do better. But it is so hard to remember not to be her father, when it is all he wants in the world.

He thinks that he would have bought her a carriage if she had asked for one. He would have bought her anything. It was good that she was humble, but that was his influence, because he could not do anything but hide. He does not want that life for her now; she is free, and can live in the gaze of all society, just as he has worked to make possible for her. There is no need to be fettered, as she was with him.

But he cannot tell her that. And her gaiety seems a little forced now, and he wilts at the idea of this distance between them even as he knows it cannot be any other way.

For the first time, he is a little glad when Basque calls. By tomorrow, this will be forgotten and they can talk of Marius again, and all will be well.

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