CHAPTER II--FANTINE HAPPY

  She made no movement of either surprise or of joy; she was joy itself.That simple question, "And Cosette?" was put with so profound a faith,with so much certainty, with such a complete absence of disquiet and ofdoubt, that he found not a word of reply. She continued:--

  "I knew that you were there. I was asleep, but I saw you. I have seenyou for a long, long time. I have been following you with my eyes allnight long. You were in a glory, and you had around you all sorts ofcelestial forms."

  He raised his glance to the crucifix.

  "But," she resumed, "tell me where Cosette is. Why did not you place heron my bed against the moment of my waking?"

  He made some mechanical reply which he was never afterwards able torecall.

  Fortunately, the doctor had been warned, and he now made his appearance.He came to the aid of M. Madeleine.

  "Calm yourself, my child," said the doctor; "your child is here."

  Fantine's eyes beamed and filled her whole face with light. She claspedher hands with an expression which contained all that is possible toprayer in the way of violence and tenderness.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, "bring her to me!"

  Touching illusion of a mother! Cosette was, for her, still the littlechild who is carried.

  "Not yet," said the doctor, "not just now. You still have some fever.The sight of your child would agitate you and do you harm. You must becured first."

  She interrupted him impetuously:--

  "But I am cured! Oh, I tell you that I am cured! What an ass that doctoris! The idea! I want to see my child!"

  "You see," said the doctor, "how excited you become. So long as you arein this state I shall oppose your having your child. It is not enoughto see her; it is necessary that you should live for her. When you arereasonable, I will bring her to you myself."

  The poor mother bowed her head.

  "I beg your pardon, doctor, I really beg your pardon. Formerly I shouldnever have spoken as I have just done; so many misfortunes have happenedto me, that I sometimes do not know what I am saying. I understand you;you fear the emotion. I will wait as long as you like, but I swear toyou that it would not have harmed me to see my daughter. I have beenseeing her; I have not taken my eyes from her since yesterday evening.Do you know? If she were brought to me now, I should talk to her verygently. That is all. Is it not quite natural that I should desire to seemy daughter, who has been brought to me expressly from Montfermeil? Iam not angry. I know well that I am about to be happy. All night long Ihave seen white things, and persons who smiled at me. When Monsieur leDocteur pleases, he shall bring me Cosette. I have no longer any fever;I am well. I am perfectly conscious that there is nothing the matterwith me any more; but I am going to behave as though I were ill, and notstir, to please these ladies here. When it is seen that I am very calm,they will say, 'She must have her child.'"

  M. Madeleine was sitting on a chair beside the bed. She turned towardshim; she was making a visible effort to be calm and "very good," as sheexpressed it in the feebleness of illness which resembles infancy, inorder that, seeing her so peaceable, they might make no difficulty aboutbringing Cosette to her. But while she controlled herself she could notrefrain from questioning M. Madeleine.

  "Did you have a pleasant trip, Monsieur le Maire? Oh! how good you wereto go and get her for me! Only tell me how she is. Did she stand thejourney well? Alas! she will not recognize me. She must have forgottenme by this time, poor darling! Children have no memories. They are likebirds. A child sees one thing to-day and another thing to-morrow, andthinks of nothing any longer. And did she have white linen? Did thoseThénardiers keep her clean? How have they fed her? Oh! if you only knewhow I have suffered, putting such questions as that to myself during allthe time of my wretchedness. Now, it is all past. I am happy. Oh, how Ishould like to see her! Do you think her pretty, Monsieur le Maire?Is not my daughter beautiful? You must have been very cold in thatdiligence! Could she not be brought for just one little instant? Shemight be taken away directly afterwards. Tell me; you are the master; itcould be so if you chose!"

  He took her hand. "Cosette is beautiful," he said, "Cosette is well.You shall see her soon; but calm yourself; you are talking with too muchvivacity, and you are throwing your arms out from under the clothes, andthat makes you cough."

  In fact, fits of coughing interrupted Fantine at nearly every word.

  Fantine did not murmur; she feared that she had injured by her toopassionate lamentations the confidence which she was desirous ofinspiring, and she began to talk of indifferent things.

  "Montfermeil is quite pretty, is it not? People go there on pleasureparties in summer. Are the Thénardiers prosperous? There are not manytravellers in their parts. That inn of theirs is a sort of a cook-shop."

  M. Madeleine was still holding her hand, and gazing at her with anxiety;it was evident that he had come to tell her things before which his mindnow hesitated. The doctor, having finished his visit, retired. SisterSimplice remained alone with them.

  But in the midst of this pause Fantine exclaimed:--

  "I hear her! mon Dieu, I hear her!"

  She stretched out her arm to enjoin silence about her, held her breath,and began to listen with rapture.

  There was a child playing in the yard--the child of the portress orof some work-woman. It was one of those accidents which are alwaysoccurring, and which seem to form a part of the mysterious stage-settingof mournful scenes. The child--a little girl--was going and coming,running to warm herself, laughing, singing at the top of her voice.Alas! in what are the plays of children not intermingled. It was thislittle girl whom Fantine heard singing.

  "Oh!" she resumed, "it is my Cosette! I recognize her voice."

  The child retreated as it had come; the voice died away. Fantinelistened for a while longer, then her face clouded over, and M.Madeleine heard her say, in a low voice: "How wicked that doctor is notto allow me to see my daughter! That man has an evil countenance, thathe has."

  But the smiling background of her thoughts came to the front again. Shecontinued to talk to herself, with her head resting on the pillow: "Howhappy we are going to be! We shall have a little garden the very firstthing; M. Madeleine has promised it to me. My daughter will play in thegarden. She must know her letters by this time. I will make her spell.She will run over the grass after butterflies. I will watch her. Thenshe will take her first communion. Ah! when will she take her firstcommunion?"

  She began to reckon on her fingers.

  "One, two, three, four--she is seven years old. In five years she willhave a white veil, and openwork stockings; she will look like a littlewoman. O my good sister, you do not know how foolish I become when Ithink of my daughter's first communion!"

  She began to laugh.

  He had released Fantine's hand. He listened to her words as one listensto the sighing of the breeze, with his eyes on the ground, his mindabsorbed in reflection which had no bottom. All at once she ceasedspeaking, and this caused him to raise his head mechanically. Fantinehad become terrible.

  She no longer spoke, she no longer breathed; she had raised herself toa sitting posture, her thin shoulder emerged from her chemise; her face,which had been radiant but a moment before, was ghastly, and sheseemed to have fixed her eyes, rendered large with terror, on somethingalarming at the other extremity of the room.

  "Good God!" he exclaimed; "what ails you, Fantine?"

  She made no reply; she did not remove her eyes from the object whichshe seemed to see. She removed one hand from his arm, and with the othermade him a sign to look behind him.

  He turned, and beheld Javert.