"Jesus!" said Marguerite, "what is the matter with you, Fantine?"◎思◎兔◎在◎線◎閱◎讀◎
"Nothing," replied Fantine.
"Quite the contrary.
My child will not die of that frightful malady, for lack of succor.
I am content."
So saying, she pointed out to the spinster two napoleons which were glittering on the table.
"Ah!
Jesus God!" cried Marguerite.
"Why, it is a fortune! Where did you get those louis d''or?"
"I got them," replied Fantine.
At the same time she smiled.
The candle illuminated her countenance. It was a bloody smile.
A reddish saliva soiled the corners of her lips, and she had a black hole in her mouth.
The two teeth had been extracted.
She sent the forty francs to Montfermeil.
After all it was a ruse of the Thenardiers to obtain money. Cosette was not ill.
Fantine threw her mirror out of the window.
She had long since quitted her cell on the second floor for an attic with only a latch to fasten it, next the roof; one of those attics whose extremity forms an angle with the floor, and knocks you on the head every instant. The poor occupant can reach the end of his chamber as he can the end of his destiny, only by bending over more and more.
She had no longer a bed; a rag which she called her coverlet, a mattress on the floor, and a seatless chair stil