Fantine still had a fever and had experienced another sleepless night, although it was filled with happy visions. At daybreak she finally fell asleep, and Sister Simplice, one of the Sisters of Charity attending her, took advantage of the opportunity to prepare Fantine’s medications. As she worked in the makeshift laboratory in the next room, she looked up and was startled to see Mayor Madeleine, who had silently entered.
Letting out a faint cry of surprise, the nun exclaimed, “Is that you, Monsieur le Mayor?”
He replied in a quiet voice, “How is this poor woman?”
“Not so bad right now, but she has been very uneasy,” Sister Simplice began. “She was very ill yesterday but seems better today because she thought you had gone to Montfermeil to get her child for her.” The nun did not ask the mayor if that were true, for it was plain to see he had not come from there.
The mayor responded, “You were right not to volunteer the truth to her.”
“I know,” the sister said, “but what will we say now? She will see you, Monsieur le Mayor, but will not see her child.”
He reflected for a moment and then answered, “God will inspire us with what to say.”
“May I see Fantine?” the mayor asked.
“She is asleep, but you may enter.”
He entered Fantine’s room, drew back the curtain, and approached her bed while she continued to sleep. Her skin was extremely pale except for her cheeks, which were crimson. Her long golden eyelashes seemed to be the only remaining vestige of the days of her beautiful youth and innocence. They seemed to quiver slightly, although her eyes remained closed and drooping. In fact, it seemed her entire being was trembling, but as though some unseen wings were unfolding, ready to open wide and carry her away.
The mayor stood motionless beside the bed for some time, gazing on the sick woman and then in turn on the crucifix, just as he had done two months before—the first day he had come to see her in the infirmary. Fantine finally opened her eyes, saw him, and said quietly with a smile, “And Cosette?”
Fantine made no movement of either surprise or joy—she was joy itself! That simple question, “And Cosette?” was asked with such profound faith, with such certainty, with such a sense of peace, and with such a complete absence of doubt, Madeleine could not find a word of reply. She then continued, “I knew you were there. I was asleep, but I saw you. I have seen you for a long, long time. I have been following you with my eyes all night long. You seemed to be in glory and were surrounded by all kinds of heavenly beings.”
The mayor raised his eyes to the crucifix.
“But,” she resumed, “tell me where Cosette is. Why didn’t you place her on my bed as soon as I awoke?”
Fortunately for the mayor, the nun had notified the doctor, who now walked into the room. He came to the aid of Madeleine and said, “Calm down my child. Your daughter is here.”
At this, Fantine’s eyes beamed and her entire face seemed bathed in light. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “Then bring her to me!”
“Not just yet,” cautioned the doctor. “You still have some fever and must get well before seeing her. You don’t want her to become ill, and besides, seeing her would excite you unnecessarily, harming you and making you weaker.”
She vehemently argued, “But I am well! I tell you I am! I want to see my child!”
“You see how excited you are becoming,” the doctor said calmly. “As long as you are like this, I must oppose you seeing your child.”
Fantine insisted, “I don’t have a fever any longer—I am well. I am perfectly aware there is nothing wrong with me anymore. Nevertheless, I will calm down and not move, as though I were ill, in order to please you and the nuns. Once they see I am calm, they will agree, ‘She must see her child.’ ”
She made a visible effort to be calm and still. Her sickness had made her very weak, and her efforts to remain calm were expressed in such a way that she became very childlike, “trying to be good” so she could see Cosette. While she made every effort to be quiet, she could not help but question Madeleine, “Did you have a pleasant trip, Monsieur le Mayor? How good you are to get Cosette for me! Tell me how she is. Did she handle the journey well?” Then with sadness Fantine added, “She will not recognize me.”
He reached for her hand and said, “Cosette is beautiful and is well. You will see her soon enough, but now you must remain calm. You are getting so excited you are pushing your blankets away, and all this talking and excitement will only worsen your cough.”
In fact, nearly every other word of Fantine’s was already being interrupted by terrible fits of coughing. After her coughing subsided somewhat, the doctor checked her breathing once more and then excused himself, leaving the mayor and Sister Simplice alone with her.
It was evident Madeleine, after his experience in court, had other things to tell Fantine. Yet now he hesitated. As he pondered what to say, Fantine suddenly exclaimed, “I hear her! I hear Cosette!” But she was hearing a neighbor’s child playing outside the window. She resumed excitedly, “It is my Cosette! I recognize her voice.”
The child’s voice faded away. Fantine listened intently for a while longer; then her face turned sullen as she said, “How wicked that doctor is for not allowing me to see my daughter!” However, she quickly became happy once again as she thought of Cosette.
Madeleine held her hand and listened to her words as one listens to the sighing of a breeze. His eyes were downcast and his mind was absorbed in such deep reflection that it seemed to have no bottom. Fantine abruptly stopped speaking, which caused him to raise his eyes to her.
Suddenly she looked terrified. She seemed to stop breathing and sat straight up in the bed. Her face, which a moment before had been radiant, now was ghastly. Her eyes, wide with terror, were fixed on something at the other side of the room.
“What troubles you, Fantine?” the alarmed mayor questioned. But she made no reply. Her eyes remained fixed on what she seemed to see. Fantine slowly slid her hand from his and made a gesture, indicating he should look across the room.
Turning, the mayor saw Javert.
Fantine had not seen Javert since the day the mayor had rescued her from him. Her sickness caused her to comprehend little, but upon seeing Javert, there was one thing of which she was certain—he had come to get her. She felt like her life was being drained from within her, and she could not bear to look at his fearsome face. She hid her face in her hands and shrieked in anguish, “Monsieur Madeleine, save me!”
The mayor had risen from his chair, and in the calmest and gentlest voice possible, said, “Be at ease. It is not for you he has come.” Then, addressing Javert, he said, “I know why you are here.”
Now aware the mayor’s name was not Madeleine, Javert replied, “Valjean, be quick about it!”
Hearing Javert, Fantine had a terrified and confused look on her face. She thought, If the mayor is here, what do I have to fear? Then she saw something more incomprehensible than anything she had seen during her worst delirious bouts of fever. She saw Javert—the police spy—seize the mayor by his collar. And when the mayor simply bowed his head, it seemed her world was coming to an end.
“Monsieur le Mayor!” Fantine shrieked.
Javert burst out laughing in a repulsive way that exposed his gums, and exclaimed sarcastically, “There is no longer any Monsieur le Mayor here!”
Jean Valjean, making no attempt to free himself from Javert’s grasp on his collar, said humbly, “Javert …”
But Javert interrupted, “Call me Monsieur Inspector.”
Submitting, Valjean continued, “Monsieur Inspector, I would like a word with you in private.”
“No! Say what you have to say openly!” Javert insisted.
Speaking openly but lowering his voice, Valjean began, “I have a request to make of you.”
“Speak up!” Javert shouted.
“But you alone need hear what I have to say.”
“What difference could that possibly make to me? I will not listen.”
Jean Valjean turned toward Javert and then continued very quietly but rapidly, “Grant me three days’ grace! Just three days in which to find this poor woman’s child. I will pay you whatever you ask, and you may accompany me if you like.”
“You must think I’m crazy!” cried Javert. “Come now, Valjean, I have never thought you to be such a fool!”
“My child!” Fantine interrupted. Having heard the mayor in spite of his attempt to keep his words from her, she pleaded with him, “Go find my child! I thought she was here. Please answer me, where is Cosette? I want my child, Monsieur Madeleine! Monsieur le Mayor!”
Javert stamped his foot in anger and shouted, “And now the other criminal speaks! Hold your tongue, you hussy!” Then staring intently at Fantine, he added, “I told you there is no longer any Monsieur Madeleine and no Monsieur le Mayor. There is nothing here but a thief—a robber—an ex-convict named Jean Valjean! And I have captured him! That’s what we have here!”
Fantine raised herself from her bed, propping her feverish body with her thin, weak arms. She gazed blankly at the mayor and Javert and opened her mouth as though to speak again. Yet a deep, deathly rattle resounded from the depths of her throat. Feeling cold, her teeth chattered, and she abruptly sat straight up, while her arms began to jerk convulsively. She thrashed about like a drowning person and suddenly fell back on her pillow.
As she fell, her head struck the headboard of the bed and fell forward toward her chest. Her gaping mouth uttered no sound, nor did her staring eyes appear to see. Fantine was dead.
Jean Valjean put his hand upon Javert’s hand that held him, and while calmly pulling it away, said, “You have murdered this poor woman.”
“Let’s put an end to this!” shouted Javert furiously. “I am not here to listen to your argument. A guard is outside, so march at once, or I’ll have you tortured with thumbscrews!”
Valjean quickly reached toward the bed and twisted off an iron rod from the headboard. He held it like a weapon and glared at Javert, who had retreated toward the door. Then in a voice barely audible, he said, “I advise you to leave me alone!”
Javert was visibly trembling at the mayor’s words. Valjean then turned and beheld Fantine’s motionless body, with his face portraying a look of inexpressible pity. After a moment of meditation, he bent over Fantine and spoke to her so softly his words could not be heard. He took her head in his hands and arranged it on the pillow, as a mother would do for her child. Finally, he smoothed her hair gently and then lovingly closed her eyes.
At that very instant, Fantine’s face seemed strangely illuminated. Perhaps it was the precise moment of death that signifies a soul’s entrance into the great heavenly light.
Fantine’s still warm hand hung over the side of her bed. Jean Valjean knelt down, gently lifted it, and kissed it. Then he stood, turned to Javert, and said, “Now, sir, I am at your disposal.”
Inspector Javert locked Jean Valjean in the local prison, while the news of the arrest of the mayor of Montreuil created quite a stir in the town. Unfortunately for Valjean, nearly everyone deserted him at the news he was a convict. In less than two hours’ time, all the good he had done over the years had been forgotten. Suddenly he was nothing but “a convict from prison.”
That same evening, the mayor’s housekeeper saw the front door swing open. From her vantage point, she could only see the arm of the person who had entered—but she knew the sleeve of that coat and that hand reaching for a candle. It was the mayor!
Being terribly surprised at seeing him, it was several seconds before she could utter, “Monsieur le Mayor! I thought you were …” She hesitated to finish her sentence out of respect for the man she still considered to be the mayor.
Valjean finished her thought for her, saying, “In prison? I was there, but I broke a bar of one of the windows, lowered myself to the ground, and escaped. I’m going to my bedroom. Please find Sister Simplice for me. No doubt she is still with that poor woman, Fantine.”
The elderly woman immediately obeyed, while Valjean climbed the stairs to his room. He glanced around the room at his table, his chair, and his bed that had not been slept in for three days. The housekeeper had cleaned the room and had found in the ashes of the fireplace two metal ends of a walking stick and a forty-sou piece, all of which she had placed on the table.
Valjean took a sheet of paper and wrote, “These are the two tips of my old walking stick and the forty-sou piece I stole from Little Gervais, which I mentioned in court in Arras.” He then arranged his note, the iron pieces, and the coin on the table so they could be plainly seen upon entering the room. From his cabinet, he pulled out an old shirt, which he tore in two. Then taking the linen pieces, he wrapped the bishop’s two silver candlesticks.
Hearing someone knock on his door, he said, “Come in!” It was Sister Simplice, whose eyes were especially red and whose face was unusually pale. She held a small candle in her hand, which was slightly trembling.
Jean Valjean had just finished writing another short note, which he handed to her and said, “Sister, please take this to the parish priest.”
The note was not folded, so when he saw her glance at it, he said, “You may read it.”
The note read as follows:
I beg you, sir, to take charge of all I leave behind. Using the funds in my account, please be so good as to pay the expenses of my trial, and for the funeral of the poor woman who died here yesterday. The remainder is to be given to the poor.
Loud footsteps suddenly could be heard running up the stairs outside the room, while the elderly housekeeper shouted at the top of her lungs, “My good sir, I swear to you that not a soul has entered this house all day long. I have been by the door since this morning.”
A man’s voice responded, “Then why is there a light on in the room upstairs?”
Valjean recognized the voice as that of Javert. He blew out the candle in his hand and quickly moved to the corner that would be hidden once the door was open. Sister Simplice fell to her knees by the table just as the door swung open.
Javert entered. The nun did not raise her eyes, for she was praying intently. The only candle still lit was the one on the mantel of the fireplace, but it shed very little light. Javert caught sight of the nun and stopped in total surprise. His first inclination was to leave immediately, but his duty propelled him in the opposite direction. He decided to ask at least one question.
Sister Simplice had never told a lie in her life, and Javert knew it. As a result, he held her in a certain place of honor and esteem. Then venturing to ask his question, he said, “Sister, are you alone in this room?”
The moment was incredibly tense, and the poor housekeeper felt as though she would faint. Just then the nun raised her eyes and said, “Yes.”
“In that case,” Javert resumed, “you will excuse me if I persist in my questioning. It is my duty. Have you seen a certain escapee this evening? He is Jean Valjean. Have you seen him?”
The sister replied, “No.” Now she had lied twice—one after the other. And she had lied without hesitation, as a person would do when sacrificing herself.
“Please pardon me then. I will now leave you alone,” Javert said, as he bowed to the nun and promptly turned to depart.
An hour later, a man was walking rapidly through the trees and the night mist, departing Montreuil in the direction of Paris. The man was Jean Valjean.