Chapter 354 Three Dilemmas

What became of Jean Valjean? Under Cosette's gracious order, after Jean Valjean laughed, he stood up immediately without anyone noticing, and went to the waiting room.It was in this room that eight months ago, covered in mud, blood, and dust, he sent his grandson to his grandfather.The old wooden utensils were decorated with flowers and leaves, and the luthiers sat on the benches where Marius had once been placed.Basque, dressed in a black jacket, shorts, white socks and white gloves, placed wreaths of roses around each plate to be served.Jean Valjean pointed out to him his bandaged arm, asked him to explain his absence, and went out.

The latticed windows of the dining-room opened onto the street, and Jean Valjean stood motionless for a few minutes under the shining windows in the darkness.he listens.The noise from the banquet reached his ears.He heard his grandfather's high-pitched and commanding speech, the violin, the clink of cups and plates, the laughter, and in the whole merry tumult he could distinguish Cosette's soft, cheerful voice. He left the Street of the Suffering Nuns and returned to the Street of Warriors. On his way home, he passed the Rue Saint-Louis, Rue Sainte-Catherine, and the white coat shop. The common road from Martial Arts Street to Passionate Nuns Street.

The path Cosette had taken led him to reject any other. Jean Valjean returned home.He lit a candle and went upstairs.The room is empty.Dusan is gone too.Jean Valjean's steps in the room were louder than usual.All cupboards are open.He went into Cosette's room.There was no sheet on the bed.The muslin pillow, without a pillowcase or lace, was placed on top of the folded quilt cover at the foot of the mattress, the mattress showing the linen cover, and no one came to sleep again.She took away all the trinkets of womanhood that Cosette loved; only the heavy wood and the four walls remained.Toussaint's bed is similarly stripped, only one bed is made, which seems to be waiting for someone, and this is Jean Valjean's bed.

Jean Valjean looked at the walls, closed the doors of the cupboards, and went from room to room. Then he went back to his room and put the candle on the table. He took his hand out of the sling, and he used his right hand as if he wasn't in pain. As he approached the berth, his gaze, whether by accident or on purpose, rested on the "inseparable thing", which was the little box that Cosette had always been jealous of in the past.When he came to Wuren Street on June 4th, he put it on a small round table with one leg next to his bed.He quickly walked to the round table, took out a key from his pocket, and opened the small box.

He slowly took out the clothes Cosette wore when she left Montfermeil ten years ago; and then he took out a heavy denim bodice, and a knit skirt, and an apron with pockets, and then wool stockings.These woolen stockings still retained the lovely shape of a child's calf, which was not much longer than Jean Valjean's hand.It's all black.It was he who brought them to Montfermeil for her to wear.He took out his clothes and put them on the bed.he was thinking.He is remembering.It was a winter, a cold December, her half-naked body shivered in rags, her poor little feet were red from the cold in the wooden shoes.It was he, Jean Valjean, who made her take off the rags and put on mourning clothes.How glad the mother must have been in the grave to see her daughter mourning for her, especially when she was clothed and warm!He thought of the forest at Montfermeil; they had passed together, Cosette and him; he thought of the weather, the trees without leaves, the woods without birds, the sky without sun; All very cute.He put the small clothes on the bed, the scarf next to the skirt, the fleece socks next to the boots, and the underwear next to the dress, and he looked at them one by one.She was only so tall, and she had her big doll in her arms, and she put her louis d'or in the pocket of her apron, and she laughed and laughed, and they walked hand in hand, and she was alone in the world.

Then his gray and respectable head fell on the bed, and the heart of the calm old man was broken, and his face, so to speak, was buried in Cosette's clothes, and if anyone had passed by the stairs at this moment, it would have been possible. Hear the groaning of pain.