I order that this woman shall be set at liberty.”
Javert ventured to make a final effort.
“But, Mr. Mayor—”
“I refer you to article eighty-one of the law of the 13th of December, 1799, in regard to arbitrary detention.”
“Monsieur le Maire, permit me—”
“Not another word.”
“But—”
“Leave the room,” said M. Madeleine.
Javert received the blow erect, full in the face, in his breast, like a Russian soldier.
He bowed to the very earth before the mayor and left the room.
Fantine stood aside from the door and stared at him in amazement as he passed.
Nevertheless, she also was the prey to a strange confusion.
She had just seen herself a subject of dispute between two opposing powers.
She had seen two men who held in their hands her liberty, her life, her soul, her child, in combat before her very eyes; one of these men was drawing her towards darkness, the other was leading her back towards the light.
In this conflict, viewed through the exaggerations of terror, these two men had appeared to her like two giants; the one spoke like her demon, the other like her good angel.
The angel had conquered the demon, and, strange to say, that which made her shudder from head to foot was the fact that this angel, this liberator, was the very man whom she abhorred, that mayor whom she had so long regarded as the author of all her woes, that Madeleine!
And at the very moment when she had insulted him in so hideous a fashion, he had saved her!
Had she, then, been mistaken?
Must she change her whole soul?
She did not know; she trembled.
She listened in bewilderment, she looked on in affright, and at every word uttered by M. Madeleine she felt the frightful shades of hatred crumble and melt within her, and something warm and ineffable, indescribable, which was both joy, confidence and love, dawn in her heart.
When Javert had taken his departure, M. Madeleine turned to her and said to her in a deliberate voice, like a serious man who does not wish to weep and who finds some difficulty in speaking:—
“I have heard you.
I knew nothing about what you have mentioned. I believe that it is true, and I feel that it is true.
I was even ignorant of the fact that you had left my shop.
Why did you not apply to me?
But here; I will pay your debts, I will send for your child, or you shall go to her.
You shall live here, in Paris, or where you please.
I undertake the care of your child and yourself.
You shall not work any longer if you do not like.
I will give all the money you require.
You shall be honest and happy once more.
And listen! I declare to you that if all is as you say,—and I do not doubt it,—you have never ceased to be virtuous and holy in the sight of God.
Oh! poor woman.”
This was more than Fantine could bear.
To have Cosette!
To leave this life of infamy.
To live free, rich, happy, respectable with Cosette; to see all these realities of paradise blossom of a sudden in the midst of her misery.
She stared stupidly at this man who was talking to her, and could only give vent to two or three sobs,
“Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Her limbs gave way beneath her, she knelt in front of M. Madeleine, and before he could prevent her he felt her grasp his hand and press her lips to it.
Then she fainted.
BOOK SIXTH.—JAVERT
CHAPTER I—THE BEGINNING OF REPOSE
M. Madeleine had Fantine removed to that infirmary which he had established in his own house. He confided her to the sisters, who put her to bed.
A burning fever had come on.
She passed a part of the night in delirium and raving.
At length, however, she fell asleep.
On the morrow, towards midday, Fantine awoke. She heard some one breathing close to her bed; she drew aside the curtain and saw M. Madeleine standing there and looking at something over her head.
His gaze was full of pity, anguish, and supplication.