CHAPTER I--SOLITUDE AND THE BARRACKS COMBINED

  Cosette's grief, which had been so poignant and lively four or fivemonths previously, had, without her being conscious of the fact, enteredupon its convalescence. Nature, spring, youth, love for her father,the gayety of the birds and flowers, caused something almost resemblingforgetfulness to filter gradually, drop by drop, into that soul, whichwas so virgin and so young. Was the fire wholly extinct there? Or wasit merely that layers of ashes had formed? The truth is, that she hardlyfelt the painful and burning spot any longer.

  One day she suddenly thought of Marius: "Why!" said she, "I no longerthink of him."

  That same week, she noticed a very handsome officer of lancers, witha wasp-like waist, a delicious uniform, the cheeks of a young girl, asword under his arm, waxed mustaches, and a glazed schapka, passing thegate. Moreover, he had light hair, prominent blue eyes, a round face,was vain, insolent and good-looking; quite the reverse of Marius. Hehad a cigar in his mouth. Cosette thought that this officer doubtlessbelonged to the regiment in barracks in the Rue de Babylone.

  On the following day, she saw him pass again. She took note of the hour.

  From that time forth, was it chance? she saw him pass nearly every day.

  The officer's comrades perceived that there was, in that "badly kept"garden, behind that malicious rococo fence, a very pretty creature,who was almost always there when the handsome lieutenant,--who is notunknown to the reader, and whose name was Théodule Gillenormand,--passedby.

  "See here!" they said to him, "there's a little creature there who ismaking eyes at you, look."

  "Have I the time," replied the lancer, "to look at all the girls wholook at me?"

  This was at the precise moment when Marius was descending heavilytowards agony, and was saying: "If I could but see her before Idie!"--Had his wish been realized, had he beheld Cosette at that momentgazing at the lancer, he would not have been able to utter a word, andhe would have expired with grief.

  Whose fault was it? No one's.

  Marius possessed one of those temperaments which bury themselves insorrow and there abide; Cosette was one of those persons who plunge intosorrow and emerge from it again.

  Cosette was, moreover, passing through that dangerous period, the fatalphase of feminine revery abandoned to itself, in which the isolatedheart of a young girl resembles the tendrils of the vine which cling,as chance directs, to the capital of a marble column or to the post ofa wine-shop: A rapid and decisive moment, critical for every orphan, beshe rich or poor, for wealth does not prevent a bad choice; misalliancesare made in very high circles, real misalliance is that of souls; and asmany an unknown young man, without name, without birth, without fortune,is a marble column which bears up a temple of grand sentiments and grandideas, so such and such a man of the world satisfied and opulent, whohas polished boots and varnished words, if looked at not outside, butinside, a thing which is reserved for his wife, is nothing more than ablock obscurely haunted by violent, unclean, and vinous passions; thepost of a drinking-shop.

  What did Cosette's soul contain? Passion calmed or lulled to sleep;something limpid, brilliant, troubled to a certain depth, and gloomylower down. The image of the handsome officer was reflected inthe surface. Did a souvenir linger in the depths?--Quite at thebottom?--Possibly. Cosette did not know.

  A singular incident supervened.