When he looked down again he saw Cosette smiling at him; the smile of the woman whom we love has a brilliancy which is visible at night.
"How foolish we are! Marius, I have an idea."
"What is it?"
"Follow us if we go away! I will tell you whither, and you can join me where I am."
Marius was now a thoroughly wide-awake man, and had fallen back into reality; hence he cried to Cosette,—
"Go with you! Are you mad? Why, it would require money, and I have none! Go to England! Why, I already owe more than ten louis to Courfeyrac, one of my friends, whom you do not know! I have an old hat, which is not worth three francs, a coat with buttons missing in front, my shirt is all torn, my boots let in water, I am out at elbows, but I have not thought of it for six weeks, and did not tell you. Cosette, I am a wretch; you only see me at night and give me your love: were you to see me by day you would give me a sou. Go to England! Why, I have not enough to pay for the passport!"
He threw himself against a tree, with his arms over his head and his forehead pressed to the bark, neither feeling the wood that grazed his skin nor the fever which spotted his temples, motionless and ready to fall, like the statue of despair. He remained for a long time in this state—people would remain for an eternity in such abysses. At length he turned and heard behind a little stifled, soft, and sad sound; it was Cosette sobbing; she had been crying for more than two hours by the side of Marius, who was reflecting. He went up to her, fell on his knees, seized her foot, which peeped out from under her skirt, and kissed it. She let him do so in silence, for there are moments when a woman accepts, like a sombre and resigned duty, the worship of love.
"Do not weep," he said.
She continued,—
"But I am perhaps going away, and you are not able to come with me."