CHAPTER VIII--MADAME VICTURNIEN EXPENDS THIRTY FRANCS ON MORALITY

  When Fantine saw that she was making her living, she felt joyful for amoment. To live honestly by her own labor, what mercy from heaven! Thetaste for work had really returned to her. She bought a looking-glass,took pleasure in surveying in it her youth, her beautiful hair, her fineteeth; she forgot many things; she thought only of Cosette and of thepossible future, and was almost happy. She hired a little room andfurnished on credit on the strength of her future work--a lingeringtrace of her improvident ways. As she was not able to say that she wasmarried she took good care, as we have seen, not to mention her littlegirl.

  At first, as the reader has seen, she paid the Thénardiers promptly. Asshe only knew how to sign her name, she was obliged to write through apublic letter-writer.

  She wrote often, and this was noticed. It began to be said in anundertone, in the women's workroom, that Fantine "wrote letters" andthat "she had ways about her."

  There is no one for spying on people's actions like those who arenot concerned in them. Why does that gentleman never come except atnightfall? Why does Mr. So-and-So never hang his key on its nail onTuesday? Why does he always take the narrow streets? Why does Madamealways descend from her hackney-coach before reaching her house? Whydoes she send out to purchase six sheets of note paper, when she has a"whole stationer's shop full of it?" etc. There exist beings who, forthe sake of obtaining the key to these enigmas, which are, moreover, ofno consequence whatever to them, spend more money, waste more time,take more trouble, than would be required for ten good actions, andthat gratuitously, for their own pleasure, without receiving any otherpayment for their curiosity than curiosity. They will follow up such andsuch a man or woman for whole days; they will do sentry duty for hoursat a time on the corners of the streets, under alley-way doors at night,in cold and rain; they will bribe errand-porters, they will make thedrivers of hackney-coaches and lackeys tipsy, buy a waiting-maid, suborna porter. Why? For no reason. A pure passion for seeing, knowing,and penetrating into things. A pure itch for talking. And oftenthese secrets once known, these mysteries made public, these enigmasilluminated by the light of day, bring on catastrophies, duels,failures, the ruin of families, and broken lives, to the great joyof those who have "found out everything," without any interest in thematter, and by pure instinct. A sad thing.

  Certain persons are malicious solely through a necessity for talking.Their conversation, the chat of the drawing-room, gossip of theanteroom, is like those chimneys which consume wood rapidly; they needa great amount of combustibles; and their combustibles are furnished bytheir neighbors.

  So Fantine was watched.

  In addition, many a one was jealous of her golden hair and of her whiteteeth.

  It was remarked that in the workroom she often turned aside, in themidst of the rest, to wipe away a tear. These were the moments when shewas thinking of her child; perhaps, also, of the man whom she had loved.

  Breaking the gloomy bonds of the past is a mournful task.

  It was observed that she wrote twice a month at least, and that shepaid the carriage on the letter. They managed to obtain the address:_Monsieur, Monsieur Thénardier, inn-keeper at Montfermeil_. The publicwriter, a good old man who could not fill his stomach with red winewithout emptying his pocket of secrets, was made to talk in thewine-shop. In short, it was discovered that Fantine had a child. "Shemust be a pretty sort of a woman." An old gossip was found, who made thetrip to Montfermeil, talked to the Thénardiers, and said on her return:"For my five and thirty francs I have freed my mind. I have seen thechild."

  The gossip who did this thing was a gorgon named Madame Victurnien, theguardian and door-keeper of every one's virtue. Madame Victurnien wasfifty-six, and re-enforced the mask of ugliness with the mask of age.A quavering voice, a whimsical mind. This old dame had once beenyoung--astonishing fact! In her youth, in '93, she had married amonk who had fled from his cloister in a red cap, and passed fromthe Bernardines to the Jacobins. She was dry, rough, peevish, sharp,captious, almost venomous; all this in memory of her monk, whose widowshe was, and who had ruled over her masterfully and bent her to hiswill. She was a nettle in which the rustle of the cassock was visible.At the Restoration she had turned bigot, and that with so much energythat the priests had forgiven her her monk. She had a small property,which she bequeathed with much ostentation to a religious community.She was in high favor at the episcopal palace of Arras. So this MadameVicturnien went to Montfermeil, and returned with the remark, "I haveseen the child."

  All this took time. Fantine had been at the factory for more than ayear, when, one morning, the superintendent of the workroom handed herfifty francs from the mayor, told her that she was no longer employedin the shop, and requested her, in the mayor's name, to leave theneighborhood.

  This was the very month when the Thénardiers, after having demandedtwelve francs instead of six, had just exacted fifteen francs instead oftwelve.

  Fantine was overwhelmed. She could not leave the neighborhood; she wasin debt for her rent and furniture. Fifty francs was not sufficientto cancel this debt. She stammered a few supplicating words. Thesuperintendent ordered her to leave the shop on the instant. Besides,Fantine was only a moderately good workwoman. Overcome with shame, evenmore than with despair, she quitted the shop, and returned to her room.So her fault was now known to every one.

  She no longer felt strong enough to say a word. She was advised tosee the mayor; she did not dare. The mayor had given her fifty francsbecause he was good, and had dismissed her because he was just. Shebowed before the decision.