"This morning my father told me to prepare my clothes and hold myself ready; that he would give me his linen to put in a portmanteau; that he was obliged to make a journey; that we were going away; that we must have a large trunk for myself and a small one for him; to get all this ready within a week, and that we should probably go to England." "Why, it is monstrous!" Marius exclaimed. It is certain that at this moment, in Marius's mind, no abuse of power, no violence, no abomination of the most prodigious tyrants, no deed of Busiris, Tiberius, or Henry VIII., equalled in ferocity this one,--M. Fauchelevent taking his daughter to England because he had business to attend to. He asked, in a faint voice,-- "And when will you start?" "He did not say when." "And when will you return?" "He did not tell me." And Marius rose and said coldly,-- "Will you go, Cosette?" Cosette turned to him, her beautiful eyes full of agony, and answered, with a species of wildness,-- "Where?" "To England; will you go?" "What can I do?" she said, clasping her hands. "Then you will go?" "If my father goes." "So you are determined to go?" Cosette seized Marius's hand and pressed it as sole reply. "Very well," said Marius; "in that case I shall go elsewhere." Cosette felt the meaning of this remark even more than she comprehended it; she turned so pale that her face became white in the darkness, and stammered,-- "What do you mean?" Marius looked at her, then slowly raised his eyes to heaven, and replied,-- "Nothing." 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!"