Works of Victor Hugo . was incipient anxiety. She drew out the contents,— a littlenote-book,— each page of which was numbered and bore sev-eral lines written in a very delicate and rather pretty hand,so Cosette thought. She looked for a name, but there wasnone; for a signature, but there was none either. For whomwas the packet intended? Probably for herself, as a handhad laid it on her bench. From whom did it come? Anirresistible fascination seized upon her; she tried to turn hereyes away from the pages, which trembled in her hand. Shelooked at the sky, the street, the acacias all bathed in li
Works of Victor Hugo . was incipient anxiety. She drew out the contents,— a littlenote-book,— each page of which was numbered and bore sev-eral lines written in a very delicate and rather pretty hand,so Cosette thought. She looked for a name, but there wasnone; for a signature, but there was none either. For whomwas the packet intended? Probably for herself, as a handhad laid it on her bench. From whom did it come? Anirresistible fascination seized upon her; she tried to turn hereyes away from the pages, which trembled in her hand. Shelooked at the sky, the street, the acacias all bathed in light,the pigeons circling round an adjoining roof, and then hereye settled on the manuscript, and she said to herself thatshe must know what was inside it. This is what she read:— CHAPTER IV A HEART BENEATH A STONE I HE reduction of the universe to a single being, the ex-pansion of a single being into God, such is love. Love is the salutation of the angels to the sad the soul when it is sad through She looked for a name, but there was none; for a signature, but therewas none either. Les Miserables. St. Denis: Page 124. ST. DENIS 125 What a void is the absence of the being who herself alonefills the world! Oh, how true it is that the beloved being be-comes God! We might understand how God might be jeal-ous, had not the Father of All evidently, made creation forthe soul, and the soul for love. A smile half seen under a white crape bonnet with lilacstrings is enough to lead the soul into the palace of dreams. God is behind everything, but everything hides are black, creatures are opaque. To love a being isto render that being transparent. Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments whenthe soul kneels, no matter what the attitude of the bodymay be. Parted lovers cheat absence by a thousand fanciful de-vices, which, however, have a reality of their own. They areprevented from seeing each other, and they cannot write, butthey find a number of mys
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, booksubjecthugovic, bookyear1864
