Page 1699 - les-miserables

Strange to say, in the sort of symphony which Marius
had lived since he had been in the habit of seeing Cosette,
the past, even the most recent past, had become so confused
and distant to him, that what Cosette told him satisfied him
completely. It did not even occur to him to tell her about the
nocturnal adventure in the hovel, about Thenardier, about
the burn, and about the strange attitude and singular flight
of her father. Marius had momentarily forgotten all this;
in the evening he did not even know that there had been a
morning, what he had done, where he had breakfasted, nor
who had spoken to him; he had songs in his ears which ren-
dered him deaf to every other thought; he only existed at
the hours when he saw Cosette. Then, as he was in heaven, it
was quite natural that he should forget earth. Both bore lan-
guidly the indefinable burden of immaterial pleasures. Thus
lived these somnambulists who are called lovers.
Alas! Who is there who has not felt all these things? Why
does there come an hour when one emerges from this azure,
and why does life go on afterwards?
Loving almost takes the place of thinking. Love is an ar-
dent forgetfulness of all the rest. Then ask logic of passion
if you will. There is no more absolute logical sequence in
the human heart than there is a perfect geometrical figure
in the celestial mechanism. For Cosette and Marius noth-
ing existed except Marius and Cosette. The universe around
them had fallen into a hole. They lived in a golden minute.
There was nothing before them, nothing behind. It hardly
occurred to Marius that Cosette had a father. His brain was
dazzled and obliterated. Of what did these lovers talk then?

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