Poor old man, with a perfectly new heart!
Only, as he was five and fifty, and Cosette eight years of age, all that might have been love in the whole course of his life flowed together into a sort of ineffable light.
It was the second white apparition which he had encountered. The Bishop had caused the dawn of virtue to rise on his horizon; Cosette caused the dawn of love to rise.
The early days passed in this dazzled state.
Cosette, on her side, had also, unknown to herself, become another being, poor little thing!
She was so little when her mother left her, that she no longer remembered her.
Like all children, who resemble young shoots of the vine, which cling to everything, she had tried to love; she had not succeeded.
All had repulsed her,-- the Thenardiers, their children, other children.
She had loved the dog, and he had died, after which nothing and nobody would have anything to do with her.
It is a sad thing to say, and we have already intimated it, that, at eight years of age, her heart was cold. It was not her fault; it was not the faculty of loving that she lacked; alas! it was the possibility.
Thus, from the very first day, all her sentient and thinking powers loved this kind man.