第二百三十四章 二 冉阿让参加国民自卫军
其实，说得更恰当些，他住在普吕梅街，他把在那里的生活作了如下的安排：
珂赛特和女仆住在那座楼房内，她有那间墙壁上挂着被单大的油画的大卧房，那间摆着镀金线脚的迎宾厅，那间挂着幔帷的、摆着大靠椅的法官的客厅，她还有那个花园。冉阿让住在车房里，那是一间在院子角上的、铺了方砖地的、开了几扇玻璃天窗的、四壁粉了灰的屋子，陈设着那种路易十四时代的、挂有帷幔的大床，那床帐的花样正是眼下还有人到科特莱①去寻求的，此外，还有一块从一个叫作于西安的、从前在圣保罗广场开铺子的地毯商的遗物中买来的波斯地毯，和他在那个荒凉的卢森堡公园里捡来的那对引火凳，此外还有个灯光明亮的、摆着书报的、上了岁数的、孤零零的人所喜爱的一切。
①科特莱（coiret），法国北部的一个小城市。
他把自己的便帽、几件有用的破衣服和从古堡里拣来的那个朝圣者用的旧包袱，全都挂在屋角里的一个钉上，不让人看见。他从来没有把在孟费郿写给德纳第的那封信的信封保存下来，他把它销毁了。在那围墙里面的幽静的园子里，凡是他在大路上捡到的、风送到他眼前的纸片，他全都要拾起来打开来看，认为全得由自己负责，他担心有人暗中侦察他。他有时在半夜里，听辨那经过普吕梅街的车辆的声音和脚步声。这是他近来的一大心事。
我们得补说一下，最近一年以来，他总在夜间出门，并越来越少，几乎绝迹了，因此，当他有时在夜间出门时，也总是戴着帽子，把帽檐拉下来遮住眼睛，顺着卢森堡公园那一边的僻静街道，朝着只有一两个灯光的大路走去，他身上穿的是那件扣得整整齐齐的大氅。
在那样的地方，难道就没有一个人注意他的行动吗？在那些成了时时侦察穷人的地方的街区，那些爱管闲事的人多的是，他有时在走到巴比伦街转角时，忽然停住脚步，向后退去，这是为什么？读者不久就会知道。
他和珂赛特在卢森堡公园里，总是坐在那条游人稀少的、普吕梅街那边一条小路旁边的座位上，他们在那里坐上整整一个下午，调养身体，一心想着那些微不足道的事情。
当时，珂赛特常穿着那件宽大的棕色呢裙袍和那顶有长带子的凸纹条格布帽子，那是她离开修道院时穿在身上的衣服。多少年过去了，衣服都已破旧，她也不去换它，而只是把它洗净。她的母亲是否穿过这样一件裙袍？她的母亲，如果她见到了她，会不会认她为女儿？在那样的日子里，人们对于珂赛特母亲的一切，都是熟悉的，可是，又有谁关心这些呢？我们以后还会知道的。
珂赛特在寄宿学校时学会了自己缝补衣物。她的那点钱，确是渐渐增多了，她用它买了一些东西。她不断买些东西送给冉阿让。冉阿让总是一口拒绝，但她始终坚持，结果是冉阿让在接受礼物时，心里感到非常快乐，但表面上却总显出不愉快的样子。
她常常把冉阿让的手臂，陪他出去走走。她面带笑容，欢欢乐乐的，因为她在这世界上有了这个亲爱的人。冉阿让自己也感到满心欢畅，精神焕发，他为自己的快乐而担心，就像一个人在偷什么东西似的，那种心里的惶恐使他变成了严肃和沉默寡言的人。
冉阿让不但在精神上，而且在身体上也不断地起着变化。他象是返老还童了，他的白发渐渐转青，黑头发又长出来了，至少在珂赛特的心目中是如此，虽然我们提到在巴斯克人家里那件事时，说他的头发是“花白的”。他的额头上皱纹也渐渐舒展了。在他脸上，只有那反映烟囱里的火的微光依然存在，此外就是一种安详而自信的说不出的气概了。
珂赛特也始终象从前那样美丽、那样善良、那样动人，那样对冉阿让一心一意地热爱。
当珂赛特说“父亲”的时候，冉阿让心里总感到一种无上的快乐。他常常引她多次重复这三个字，用来享受那无限的天伦之乐。他自己也常说“我的珂赛特”。这两个字也包含着几许爱情。
However, properly speaking, he lived in the Rue Plumet, and he had
arranged his existence there in the following fashion:—
Cosette and the servant occupied the pavilion; she had the big
sleeping-room with the painted pier-glasses, the boudoir with the
gilded fillets, the justice’s drawing-room furnished with tapestries
and vast armchairs; she had the garden. Jean Valjean had a canopied bed
of antique damask in three colors and a beautiful Persian rug purchased
in the Rue du Figuier-Saint-Paul at Mother Gaucher’s, put into
Cosette’s chamber, and, in order to redeem the severity of these
magnificent old things, he had amalgamated with this bric-à-brac all
the gay and graceful little pieces of furniture suitable to young
girls, an étagère, a bookcase filled with gilt-edged books, an
inkstand, a blotting-book, paper, a work-table incrusted with mother of
pearl, a silver-gilt dressing-case, a toilet service in Japanese
porcelain. Long damask curtains with a red foundation and three colors,
like those on the bed, hung at the windows of the first floor. On the
ground floor, the curtains were of tapestry. All winter long, Cosette’s
little house was heated from top to bottom. Jean Valjean inhabited the
sort of porter’s lodge which was situated at the end of the back
courtyard, with a mattress on a folding-bed, a white wood table, two
straw chairs, an earthenware water-jug, a few old volumes on a shelf,
his beloved valise in one corner, and never any fire. He dined with
Cosette, and he had a loaf of black bread on the table for his own use.
When Toussaint came, he had said to her: “It is the young lady who is
the mistress of this house.”—“And you, monsieur?” Toussaint replied in
amazement.—“I am a much better thing than the master, I am the father.”
Cosette had been taught housekeeping in the convent, and she regulated
their expenditure, which was very modest. Every day, Jean Valjean put
his arm through Cosette’s and took her for a walk. He led her to the
Luxembourg, to the least frequented walk, and every Sunday he took her
to mass at Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas, because that was a long way off.
As it was a very poor quarter, he bestowed alms largely there, and the
poor people surrounded him in church, which had drawn down upon him
Thénardier’s epistle: “To the benevolent gentleman of the church of
Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas.” He was fond of taking Cosette to visit the
poor and the sick. No stranger ever entered the house in the Rue
Plumet. Toussaint brought their provisions, and Jean Valjean went
himself for water to a fountain nearby on the boulevard. Their wood and
wine were put into a half-subterranean hollow lined with rock-work
which lay near the Rue de Babylone and which had formerly served the
chief-justice as a grotto; for at the epoch of follies and “Little
Houses” no love was without a grotto.
In the door opening on the Rue de Babylone, there was a box destined
for the reception of letters and papers; only, as the three inhabitants
of the pavilion in the Rue Plumet received neither papers nor letters,
the entire usefulness of that box, formerly the go-between of a love
affair, and the confidant of a love-lorn lawyer, was now limited to the
tax-collector’s notices, and the summons of the guard. For M.
Fauchelevent, independent gentleman, belonged to the national guard; he
had not been able to escape through the fine meshes of the census of
1831. The municipal information collected at that time had even reached
the convent of the Petit-Picpus, a sort of impenetrable and holy cloud,
whence Jean Valjean had emerged in venerable guise, and, consequently,
worthy of mounting guard in the eyes of the town-hall.
Three or four times a year, Jean Valjean donned his uniform and mounted
guard; he did this willingly, however; it was a correct disguise which
mixed him with every one, and yet left him solitary. Jean Valjean had
just attained his sixtieth birthday, the age of legal exemption; but he
did not appear to be over fifty; moreover, he had no desire to escape
his sergeant-major nor to quibble with Comte de Lobau; he possessed no
civil status, he was concealing his name, he was concealing his
identity, so he concealed his age, he concealed everything; and, as we
have just said, he willingly did his duty as a national guard; the sum
of his ambition lay in resembling any other man who paid his taxes.
This man had for his ideal, within, the angel, without, the bourgeois.
Let us note one detail, however; when Jean Valjean went out with
Cosette, he dressed as the reader has already seen, and had the air of
a retired officer. When he went out alone, which was generally at
night, he was always dressed in a workingman’s trousers and blouse, and
wore a cap which concealed his face. Was this precaution or humility?
Both. Cosette was accustomed to the enigmatical side of her destiny,
and hardly noticed her father’s peculiarities. As for Toussaint, she
venerated Jean Valjean, and thought everything he did right.
One day, her butcher, who had caught a glimpse of Jean Valjean, said to
her: “That’s a queer fish.” She replied: “He’s a saint.”
Neither Jean Valjean nor Cosette nor Toussaint ever entered or emerged
except by the door on the Rue de Babylone. Unless seen through the
garden gate it would have been difficult to guess that they lived in
the Rue Plumet. That gate was always closed. Jean Valjean had left the
garden uncultivated, in order not to attract attention.
In this, possibly, he made a mistake.
