He is so tired, it seems impossible even to rest. But perhaps less impossible than everything else.

He allows his arm to be manipulated, and does not look at anyone, his face cast down.

'I am sorry, Cosette,' he mumbles, eventually.

'Do not distress yourself for me. I am quite well, as you see. Look, I will smile.'

And so he does, except he is still weeping a little, and it is a terrible thing rather than something of joy.