d the window and cast her eyes around her in every direction, hoping to descry some bit of the street, an angle of the house, an edge of pavement, so that she might be able to watch for Marius there.
But no view of the outside was to be had.
The back court was surrounded by tolerably high walls, and the outlook was only on several gardens. Cosette pronounced these gardens hideous:
for the first time in her life, she found flowers ugly.
The smallest scrap of the gutter of the street would have met her wishes better.
She decided to gaze at the sky, as though she thought that Marius might come from that quarter.
All at once, she burst into tears.
Not that this was fickleness of soul; but hopes cut in twain by dejection--that was her case. She had a confused consciousness of something horrible.
Thoughts were rife in the air, in fact.
She told herself that she was not sure of anything, that to withdraw herself from sight was to be lost; and the idea that Marius could return to her from heaven appeared to her no longer charming but mournful.
Then, as is the nature of these clouds, calm returned to her, and hope and a sort of unconscious smile, which yet indicated trust in God.
Every one in the house was still asleep.
A country-like silence reigned. Not a shutter had been opened.
The porter''s lodge was closed. Toussaint had not risen, and Cosette, naturally, thought that her father was asleep.