M. Madeleine had Fantine removed to that infirmary which he had
established in his own house. He confided her to the sisters, who put
her to bed. A burning fever had come on. She passed a part of the night
in delirium and raving. At length, however, she fell asleep.
On the morrow, towards midday, Fantine awoke. She heard some one
breathing close to her bed; she drew aside the curtain and saw M.
Madeleine standing there and looking at something over her head. His
gaze was full of pity, anguish, and supplication. She followed its
direction, and saw that it was fixed on a crucifix which was nailed to
the wall.
Thenceforth, M. Madeleine was transfigured in Fantine’s eyes. He seemed
to her to be clothed in light. He was absorbed in a sort of prayer. She
gazed at him for a long time without daring to interrupt him. At last
she said timidly:—
“What are you doing?”
M. Madeleine had been there for an hour. He had been waiting for
Fantine to awake. He took her hand, felt of her pulse, and replied:—
“How do you feel?”
“Well, I have slept,” she replied; “I think that I am better. It is
nothing.”
He answered, responding to the first question which she had put to him
as though he had just heard it:—
“I was praying to the martyr there on high.”
And he added in his own mind, “For the martyr here below.”
M. Madeleine had passed the night and the morning in making inquiries.
He knew all now. He knew Fantine’s history in all its heart-rending
details. He went on:—
“You have suffered much, poor mother. Oh! do not complain; you now have
the dowry of the elect. It is thus that men are transformed into
angels. It is not their fault they do not know how to go to work
otherwise. You see this hell from which you have just emerged is the
first form of heaven. It was necessary to begin there.”
He sighed deeply. But she smiled on him with that sublime smile in
which two teeth were lacking.
That same night, Javert wrote a letter. The next morning be posted it
himself at the office of M. sur M. It was addressed to Paris, and the
superscription ran: _To Monsieur Chabouillet, Secretary of Monsieur le
Préfet of Police_. As the affair in the station-house had been bruited
about, the post-mistress and some other persons who saw the letter
before it was sent off, and who recognized Javert’s handwriting on the
cover, thought that he was sending in his resignation.
M. Madeleine made haste to write to the Thénardiers. Fantine owed them
one hundred and twenty francs. He sent them three hundred francs,
telling them to pay themselves from that sum, and to fetch the child
instantly to M. sur M., where her sick mother required her presence.
This dazzled Thénardier. “The devil!” said the man to his wife; “don’t
let’s allow the child to go. This lark is going to turn into a milch
cow. I see through it. Some ninny has taken a fancy to the mother.”
He replied with a very well drawn-up bill for five hundred and some odd
francs. In this memorandum two indisputable items figured up over three
hundred francs,—one for the doctor, the other for the apothecary who
had attended and physicked Éponine and Azelma through two long
illnesses. Cosette, as we have already said, had not been ill. It was
only a question of a trifling substitution of names. At the foot of the
memorandum Thénardier wrote, _Received on account, three hundred
francs_.
M. Madeleine immediately sent three hundred francs more, and wrote,
“Make haste to bring Cosette.”
“Christi!” said Thénardier, “let’s not give up the child.”
In the meantime, Fantine did not recover. She still remained in the
infirmary.
The sisters had at first only received and nursed “that woman” with
repugnance. Those who have seen the bas-reliefs of Rheims will recall
the inflation of the lower lip of the wise virgins as they survey the
foolish virgins. The ancient scorn of the vestals for the ambubajæ is
one of the most profound instincts of feminine dignity; the sisters
felt it with the double force contributed by religion. But in a few
days Fantine disarmed them. She said all kinds of humble and gentle
things, and the mother in her provoked tenderness. One day the sisters
heard her say amid her fever: “I have been a sinner; but when I have my
child beside me, it will be a sign that God has pardoned me. While I
was leading a bad life, I should not have liked to have my Cosette with
me; I could not have borne her sad, astonished eyes. It was for her
sake that I did evil, and that is why God pardons me. I shall feel the
benediction of the good God when Cosette is here. I shall gaze at her;
it will do me good to see that innocent creature. She knows nothing at
all. She is an angel, you see, my sisters. At that age the wings have
not fallen off.”
M. Madeleine went to see her twice a day, and each time she asked him:—
“Shall I see my Cosette soon?”
He answered:—
“To-morrow, perhaps. She may arrive at any moment. I am expecting her.”
And the mother’s pale face grew radiant.
“Oh!” she said, “how happy I am going to be!”
We have just said that she did not recover her health. On the contrary,
her condition seemed to become more grave from week to week. That
handful of snow applied to her bare skin between her shoulder-blades
had brought about a sudden suppression of perspiration, as a
consequence of which the malady which had been smouldering within her
for many years was violently developed at last. At that time people
were beginning to follow the fine Laënnec’s fine suggestions in the
study and treatment of chest maladies. The doctor sounded Fantine’s
chest and shook his head.
M. Madeleine said to the doctor:—
“Well?”
“Has she not a child which she desires to see?” said the doctor.
“Yes.”
“Well! Make haste and get it here!”
M. Madeleine shuddered.
Fantine inquired:—
“What did the doctor say?”
M. Madeleine forced himself to smile.
“He said that your child was to be brought speedily. That that would
restore your health.”
“Oh!” she rejoined, “he is right! But what do those Thénardiers mean by
keeping my Cosette from me! Oh! she is coming. At last I behold
happiness close beside me!”
In the meantime Thénardier did not “let go of the child,” and gave a
hundred insufficient reasons for it. Cosette was not quite well enough
to take a journey in the winter. And then, there still remained some
petty but pressing debts in the neighborhood, and they were collecting
the bills for them, etc., etc.
“I shall send some one to fetch Cosette!” said Father Madeleine. “If
necessary, I will go myself.”
He wrote the following letter to Fantine’s dictation, and made her sign
it:—
“MONSIEUR THÉNARDIER:—
You will deliver Cosette to this person.
You will be paid for all the little things.
I have the honor to salute you with respect.
“FANTINE.”
In the meantime a serious incident occurred. Carve as we will the
mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny
constantly reappears in it.