CHAPTER IX--MADAME VICTURNIEN'S SUCCESS

  So the monk's widow was good for something.

  But M. Madeleine had heard nothing of all this. Life is full of justsuch combinations of events. M. Madeleine was in the habit of almostnever entering the women's workroom.

  At the head of this room he had placed an elderly spinster, whomthe priest had provided for him, and he had full confidence in thissuperintendent,--a truly respectable person, firm, equitable, upright,full of the charity which consists in giving, but not having in the samedegree that charity which consists in understanding and in forgiving.M. Madeleine relied wholly on her. The best men are often obligedto delegate their authority. It was with this full power, and theconviction that she was doing right, that the superintendent hadinstituted the suit, judged, condemned, and executed Fantine.

  As regards the fifty francs, she had given them from a fund which M.Madeleine had intrusted to her for charitable purposes, and for givingassistance to the workwomen, and of which she rendered no account.

  Fantine tried to obtain a situation as a servant in the neighborhood;she went from house to house. No one would have her. She could notleave town. The second-hand dealer, to whom she was in debt for herfurniture--and what furniture!--said to her, "If you leave, I will haveyou arrested as a thief." The householder, whom she owed for her rent,said to her, "You are young and pretty; you can pay." She divided thefifty francs between the landlord and the furniture-dealer, returned tothe latter three-quarters of his goods, kept only necessaries, and foundherself without work, without a trade, with nothing but her bed, andstill about fifty francs in debt.

  She began to make coarse shirts for soldiers of the garrison, and earnedtwelve sous a day. Her daughter cost her ten. It was at this point thatshe began to pay the Thénardiers irregularly.

  However, the old woman who lighted her candle for her when she returnedat night, taught her the art of living in misery. Back of living onlittle, there is the living on nothing. These are the two chambers; thefirst is dark, the second is black.

  Fantine learned how to live without fire entirely in the winter; how togive up a bird which eats a half a farthing's worth of millet everytwo days; how to make a coverlet of one's petticoat, and a petticoat ofone's coverlet; how to save one's candle, by taking one's meals bythe light of the opposite window. No one knows all that certain feeblecreatures, who have grown old in privation and honesty, can get out ofa sou. It ends by being a talent. Fantine acquired this sublime talent,and regained a little courage.

  At this epoch she said to a neighbor, "Bah! I say to myself, by onlysleeping five hours, and working all the rest of the time at my sewing,I shall always manage to nearly earn my bread. And, then, when one issad, one eats less. Well, sufferings, uneasiness, a little bread on onehand, trouble on the other,--all this will support me."

  It would have been a great happiness to have her little girl with her inthis distress. She thought of having her come. But what then! Make hershare her own destitution! And then, she was in debt to the Thénardiers!How could she pay them? And the journey! How pay for that?

  The old woman who had given her lessons in what may be called the lifeof indigence, was a sainted spinster named Marguerite, who was piouswith a true piety, poor and charitable towards the poor, and eventowards the rich, knowing how to write just sufficiently to sign herselfMarguerite, and believing in God, which is science.

  There are many such virtuous people in this lower world; some day theywill be in the world above. This life has a morrow.

  At first, Fantine had been so ashamed that she had not dared to go out.

  When she was in the street, she divined that people turned round behindher, and pointed at her; every one stared at her and no one greeted her;the cold and bitter scorn of the passers-by penetrated her very fleshand soul like a north wind.

  It seems as though an unfortunate woman were utterly bare beneath thesarcasm and the curiosity of all in small towns. In Paris, at least, noone knows you, and this obscurity is a garment. Oh! how she would haveliked to betake herself to Paris! Impossible!

  She was obliged to accustom herself to disrepute, as she had accustomedherself to indigence. Gradually she decided on her course. At theexpiration of two or three months she shook off her shame, and began togo about as though there were nothing the matter. "It is all the same tome," she said.

  She went and came, bearing her head well up, with a bitter smile, andwas conscious that she was becoming brazen-faced.

  Madame Victurnien sometimes saw her passing, from her window, noticedthe distress of "that creature" who, "thanks to her," had been "put backin her proper place," and congratulated herself. The happiness of theevil-minded is black.

  Excess of toil wore out Fantine, and the little dry cough which troubledher increased. She sometimes said to her neighbor, Marguerite, "Justfeel how hot my hands are!"

  Nevertheless, when she combed her beautiful hair in the morning withan old broken comb, and it flowed about her like floss silk, sheexperienced a moment of happy coquetry.