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Updated: June 17, 2025
And then, there still remained some petty but pressing debts in the neighborhood, and they were collecting the bills for them, etc., etc. "I shall send some one to fetch Cosette!" said Father Madeleine. "If necessary, I will go myself." He wrote the following letter to Fantine's dictation, and made her sign it: "MONSIEUR THENARDIER: You will deliver Cosette to this person.
Jean Valjean took Fantine's head in both his hands, and arranged it on the pillow as a mother might have done for her child; then he tied the string of her chemise, and smoothed her hair back under her cap. That done, he closed her eyes. Fantine's face seemed strangely illuminated at that moment. Death, that signifies entrance into the great light.
So she put up her wardrobe and baby in a bundle, child as she was, she loved them both, then left Paris. Fantine's native place had changed. M. Madeline an angel, and inventor of jet-work had been teaching the villagers how to make spurious jet. This is a progressive age. Those Americans children of the West, they make nutmegs out of wood.
I have the honor to salute you with respect, FANTINE." "You know that signature?" resumed the man. It certainly was Fantine's signature; Thenardier recognized it. There was no reply to make; he experienced two violent vexations, the vexation of renouncing the bribery which he had hoped for, and the vexation of being beaten; the man added: "You may keep this paper as your receipt."
I have clothed her with my hair." She put on little round caps which concealed her shorn head, and in which she was still pretty. Dark thoughts held possession of Fantine's heart. When she saw that she could no longer dress her hair, she began to hate every one about her.
And he added in his own mind, "For the martyr here below." M. Madeleine had passed the night and the morning in making inquiries. He knew all now. He knew Fantine's history in all its heart-rending details. He went on: "You have suffered much, poor mother. Oh! do not complain; you now have the dowry of the elect. It is thus that men are transformed into angels.
His gaze was full of pity, anguish, and supplication. She followed its direction, and saw that it was fixed on a crucifix which was nailed to the wall. Thenceforth, M. Madeleine was transfigured in Fantine's eyes. He seemed to her to be clothed in light. He was absorbed in a sort of prayer. She gazed at him for a long time without daring to interrupt him. At last she said timidly:
No, it wasn't you who came to Montfermeil, to my inn, eight years ago, on Christmas eve, 1823! It wasn't you who carried off that Fantine's child from me! The Lark! It wasn't you who had a yellow great-coat! No! Nor a package of duds in your hand, as you had this morning here! Say, wife, it seems to be his mania to carry packets of woollen stockings into houses!
Javert turned his back. The soldiers seized her by the arms. A few moments earlier a man had entered, but no one had paid any heed to him. He shut the door, leaned his back against it, and listened to Fantine's despairing supplications. At the instant when the soldiers laid their hands upon the unfortunate woman, who would not rise, he emerged from the shadow, and said:
The point as to which there exists no doubt is, that Sister Simplice, the sole witness of the incident, often said that at the moment that Jean Valjean whispered in Fantine's ear, she distinctly beheld an ineffable smile dawn on those pale lips, and in those dim eyes, filled with the amazement of the tomb.
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