Jean Valjean

 
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.

 
Christmas is over at last. It is usually a quiet but happy time for them - church, of course, and Toussaint will cook something a little more elaborate than their usual fare. Valjean spends more time than usual giving out clothes, and food, and coins to those who might need them. At this time of year, he carries small toys also; he remembers well a Christmas nine years ago, and the joy on a little girl's face as he handed her the finest doll in Montfermeil, and told her to play.

The little girl is no longer little, and her face is lit with the joy of being less than two months from her wedding. It is this which gives him pause today, on a day which should be like any other, but is not. Valjean has been sitting in his room in the Rue de l'Homme Arme, his chin resting on his hand, for some hours. The arrangements for the wedding continue apace. He has used the knowledge acquired on being a mayor, and has arranged a family and background for Cosette over these last few months; she is registered, and legal, and all is as it should be. There may be a peculiarity here and there, but everyone is so happy they seem not to have noticed.

All the paperwork completed on the day before Christmas, Valjean thought it kinder to leave a certain conversation until after the day itself. He would not want to blight her quiet festivities with Marius and his family, even if he is not sure how much of a blight this news will be. But it matters not; the holiday is over, and February seems much closer now than it did a few days ago. He can stall no longer; she must be told.

He sighs heavily, and stands up. There are papers on the table. He picks them up, regards them for a moment, and then shakes his head and leaves the room.

'Cosette?'