"Things are growing serious," said Cosette. "What have I done to you? I am offended, and you must make it up with me; you will dine with us?" "I have dined." "That is not true, and I will have you scolded by M. Gillenormand. Grandfathers are made to lay down the law to fathers. Come, go with me to the drawing-room. At once." "Impossible!" Cosette here lost a little ground; she ceased to order and began questioning. "But why? And you choose the ugliest room in the house to see me in. It is horrible here." "You know--" Jean Valjean broke off-- "You know, Madame, that I am peculiar, and have my fancies." "Madame--_you_ know--more novelties; what does this all mean?" Jean Valjean gave her that heart-broken smile to which he sometimes had recourse. "You wished to be Madame. You are." "Not for you, father." "Do not call me father." "What?" "Call me Monsieur Jean, or Jean, if you like." "You are no longer father? I am no longer Cosette? Monsieur Jean? Why, what does it mean? These are revolutions. What has happened? Look me in the face, if you can. And you will not live with us! And you will not accept our bed-room! What have I done to offend you? Oh, what have I done? There must be something." "Nothing." "In that case, then?" "All is as usual." "Why do you change your name?" "You have changed yours." He smiled the same smile again, and added,-- "Since you are Madame Pontmercy, I may fairly be Monsieur Jean." "I do not understand anything, and all this is idiotic. I will ask my husband's leave for you to be Monsieur Jean, and I hope that he will not consent. You cause me great sorrow; and though you may have whims, you have no right to make your little Cosette grieve. That is wrong, and you have no right to be naughty, fear you are so good." As he made no reply, she seized both his hands eagerly, and with an irresistible movement raising them to her face she pressed them against her neck under her chin, which is a profound sign of affection. "Oh," she said, "be kind to me!" And she continued: "This is what I call being kind,--to behave yourself, come and live here, for there are birds here as in the Rue Plumet; to live with us, leave that hole in the Rue de l'Homme Armé, give us no more riddles to guess; to be like everybody else, dine With us, breakfast with us, and be my father." He removed her hands,-- "You no longer want a father, as you have a husband." Cosette broke out,-- "I no longer want a father! Things like that have no common sense, and I really do not know what to say." "If Toussaint were here," Jean Valjean continued, like a man seeking authorities and who clings to every branch, "she would be the first to allow that I have always had strange ways of my own. There is nothing new in it, for I always loved my dark corner." "But it is cold here, and we cannot see distinctly; and it is abominable to wish to be Monsieur Jean; and I shall not allow you to call me Madame."