Fantine Happy — Les Misérables

She makes no movement of surprise or of joy. She is joy itself. And Cosette is put with such faith, such absence of doubt, that he finds not a word of reply. I knew that you were there. I was asleep, but I saw you. I have been following you with my eyes all night. You were in a glory. Tell me where Cosette is. Why did you not place her on my bed against the moment of my waking? He makes some mechanical reply he is never afterwards able to recall. The doctor has been warned and comes to his aid. Calm yourself; your child is here. Her eyes beam. Bring her to me. For her, Cosette is still the little child who is carried. Not yet, says the doctor. You still have fever. The sight of your child would agitate you and do you harm. You must be cured first. She interrupts: I am cured; what an ass that doctor is; I want to see my child. He says that this excitement is why he will oppose it. It is not enough to see her; it is necessary that she live for her. The poor mother bows her head. She begs pardon. She will wait as long as he likes. She has been seeing her since yesterday evening. She will talk very gently. She has seen white things and persons who smiled. She will behave as though she were ill, so that they will say she must have her child.

She turns to the mayor, making a visible effort to be very good. Did you have a pleasant trip? How good you were to go and get her. Did she stand the journey well? She will not recognize me; children have no memories; they are like birds. Did those Thénardiers keep her clean? How have they fed her? Is not my daughter beautiful? Could she not be brought for just one little instant? He takes her hand. Cosette is beautiful. Cosette is well. You shall see her soon. But calm yourself; you are throwing your arms out from under the clothes, and that makes you cough. Fits of coughing interrupt her at nearly every word. She begins to talk of indifferent things: Montfermeil is quite pretty; are the Thénardiers prosperous; that inn is a sort of cook-shop. He is still holding her hand. It is evident he has come to tell her things before which his mind now hesitates. The doctor retires. Sister Simplice remains alone with them.

In the pause she exclaims that she hears her. A child is playing in the yard, the child of the portress or of some work-woman, running, laughing, singing at the top of her voice. It is my Cosette. I recognize her voice. The child retreats; the voice dies away. Her face clouds. How wicked that doctor is not to allow me to see my daughter. Then the smiling background of her thoughts comes to the front again. How happy we are going to be. A little garden; the mayor has promised it. She will play on the grass after butterflies. She must know her letters. First communion: she is seven; in five years a white veil. She laughs. He has released her hand. He listens as one listens to the sighing of the breeze, his mind absorbed in reflection which has no bottom. All at once she ceases speaking. He raises his head. Fantine has become terrible. She no longer speaks. She no longer breathes. She has raised herself; her thin shoulder emerges from her chemise; her face, radiant a moment before, is ghastly; her eyes, large with terror, are fixed on something alarming at the other extremity of the room. Good God, what ails you? She does not reply. She removes one hand from his arm and with the other makes him a sign to look behind him. He turns, and beheld Javert.