to the barricades," an idea flashed through her mind, to fling herself into that death, as she would have done into any other, and to thrust Marius into it also.
She had followed Courfeyrac, had made sure of the locality where the barricade was in process of construction; and, quite certain, since Marius had received no warning, and since she had intercepted the letter, that he would go at dusk to his trysting place for every evening, she had betaken herself to the Rue Plumet, had there awaited Marius, and had sent him, in the name of his friends, the appeal which would, she thought, lead him to the barricade.
She reckoned on Marius'' despair when he should fail to find Cosette; she was not mistaken. She had returned to the Rue de la Chanvrerie herself.
What she did there the reader has just seen.
She died with the tragic joy of jealous hearts who drag the beloved being into their own death, and who say: "No one shall have him!"
Marius covered Cosette''s letter with kisses.
So she loved him! For one moment the idea occurred to him that he ought not to die now. Then he said to himself:
"She is going away.
Her father is taking her to England, and my grandfather refuses his consent to the marriage. Nothing is changed in our fates."
Dreamers like Marius are subject to supreme attacks of dejection, and desperate resolves are the result. The fatigue of living is insupportable; death is sooner over with. Then he reflected that he had still two duties to fulfil: