CHAPTER I--IN WHAT MIRROR M. MADELEINE CONTEMPLATES HIS HAIR

  The day had begun to dawn. Fantine had passed a sleepless and feverishnight, filled with happy visions; at daybreak she fell asleep. SisterSimplice, who had been watching with her, availed herself of thisslumber to go and prepare a new potion of chinchona. The worthy sisterhad been in the laboratory of the infirmary but a few moments, bendingover her drugs and phials, and scrutinizing things very closely, onaccount of the dimness which the half-light of dawn spreads over allobjects. Suddenly she raised her head and uttered a faint shriek. M.Madeleine stood before her; he had just entered silently.

  "Is it you, Mr. Mayor?" she exclaimed.

  He replied in a low voice:--

  "How is that poor woman?"

  "Not so bad just now; but we have been very uneasy."

  She explained to him what had passed: that Fantine had been very ill theday before, and that she was better now, because she thought that themayor had gone to Montfermeil to get her child. The sister dared notquestion the mayor; but she perceived plainly from his air that he hadnot come from there.

  "All that is good," said he; "you were right not to undeceive her."

  "Yes," responded the sister; "but now, Mr. Mayor, she will see you andwill not see her child. What shall we say to her?"

  He reflected for a moment.

  "God will inspire us," said he.

  "But we cannot tell a lie," murmured the sister, half aloud.

  It was broad daylight in the room. The light fell full on M. Madeleine'sface. The sister chanced to raise her eyes to it.

  "Good God, sir!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you? Your hair isperfectly white!"

  "White!" said he.

  Sister Simplice had no mirror. She rummaged in a drawer, and pulled outthe little glass which the doctor of the infirmary used to see whethera patient was dead and whether he no longer breathed. M. Madeleine tookthe mirror, looked at his hair, and said:--

  "Well!"

  He uttered the word indifferently, and as though his mind were onsomething else.

  The sister felt chilled by something strange of which she caught aglimpse in all this.

  He inquired:--

  "Can I see her?"

  "Is not Monsieur le Maire going to have her child brought back to her?"said the sister, hardly venturing to put the question.

  "Of course; but it will take two or three days at least."

  "If she were not to see Monsieur le Maire until that time," went onthe sister, timidly, "she would not know that Monsieur le Maire hadreturned, and it would be easy to inspire her with patience; and whenthe child arrived, she would naturally think Monsieur le Maire had justcome with the child. We should not have to enact a lie."

  M. Madeleine seemed to reflect for a few moments; then he said with hiscalm gravity:--

  "No, sister, I must see her. I may, perhaps, be in haste."

  The nun did not appear to notice this word "perhaps," which communicatedan obscure and singular sense to the words of the mayor's speech. Shereplied, lowering her eyes and her voice respectfully:--

  "In that case, she is asleep; but Monsieur le Maire may enter."

  He made some remarks about a door which shut badly, and the noise ofwhich might awaken the sick woman; then he entered Fantine's chamber,approached the bed and drew aside the curtains. She was asleep. Herbreath issued from her breast with that tragic sound which is peculiarto those maladies, and which breaks the hearts of mothers when they arewatching through the night beside their sleeping child who is condemnedto death. But this painful respiration hardly troubled a sort ofineffable serenity which overspread her countenance, and whichtransfigured her in her sleep. Her pallor had become whiteness; hercheeks were crimson; her long golden lashes, the only beauty of heryouth and her virginity which remained to her, palpitated, though theyremained closed and drooping. Her whole person was trembling with anindescribable unfolding of wings, all ready to open wide and bear heraway, which could be felt as they rustled, though they could not beseen. To see her thus, one would never have dreamed that she wasan invalid whose life was almost despaired of. She resembled rathersomething on the point of soaring away than something on the point ofdying.

  The branch trembles when a hand approaches it to pluck a flower, andseems to both withdraw and to offer itself at one and the same time.The human body has something of this tremor when the instant arrives inwhich the mysterious fingers of Death are about to pluck the soul.

  M. Madeleine remained for some time motionless beside that bed, gazingin turn upon the sick woman and the crucifix, as he had done two monthsbefore, on the day when he had come for the first time to see herin that asylum. They were both still there in the same attitude--shesleeping, he praying; only now, after the lapse of two months, her hairwas gray and his was white.

  The sister had not entered with him. He stood beside the bed, with hisfinger on his lips, as though there were some one in the chamber whom hemust enjoin to silence.

  She opened her eyes, saw him, and said quietly, with a smile:--

  "And Cosette?"