'Yes，'said Fantine；'that makes forty francs.'
She remained thoughtful，and began her work.
At the expiration of a quarter of an hour she left her sewing and went to read the Thenardiers'letter once more on the staircase.
On her return，she said to Marguerite，who was at work beside her：——
'What is a miliary fever？
Do you know？'
'Yes，'answered the old spinster；'it is a disease.'
'Does it require many drugs？'
'Oh！terrible drugs.'
'How does one get it？'
'It is a malady that one gets without knowing how.'
'Then it attacks children？'
'Children in particular.'
'Do people die of it？'
'They may，'said Marguerite.
Fantine left the room and went to read her letter once more on the staircase.
That evening she went out，and was seen to turn her steps in the direction of the Rue de Paris，where the inns are situated.
The next morning，when Marguerite entered Fantine's room before daylight，——for they always worked together，and in this manner used only one candle for the two，——she found Fantine seated on her bed，pale and frozen.
She had not lain down.Her cap had fallen on her knees.
Her candle had burned all night，and was almost entirely consumed.
Marguerite halted on the threshold，petrified at this tremendous wastefulness，and exclaimed：——
'Lord！the candle is all burned out！
Something has happened.'
Then she looked at Fantine，who turned toward her her head bereft of its hair.
Fantine had grown ten years older since the preceding night.
'Jesus！'said Marguerite，'what is the matter with you，Fantine？'
'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 still remained.A little rosebush which she had，had dried up，forgotten，in one corner.In the other corner was a butter-pot to hold water，which froze in winter，and in which the various levels of the water remained long marked by these circles of ice.
She had lost her shame；she lost her coquetry.
A final sign.
She went out，with dirty caps.Whether from lack of time or from indifference，she no longer mended her linen.
As the heels wore out，she dragged her stockings down into her shoes.
This was evident from the perpendicular wrinkles.She patched her bodice，which was old and worn out，with scraps of calico which tore at the slightest movement.
The people to whom she was indebted made'scenes'and gave her no peace.She found them in the street，she found them again on her staircase.She passed many a night weeping and thinking.
Her eyes were very bright，and she felt a steady pain in her shoulder towards the top of the left shoulder-blade.She coughed a great deal.She deeply hated Father Madeleine，but made no complaint.
She sewed seventeen hours a day；but a contractor for the work of prisons，who made the prisoners work at a discount，suddenly made prices fall，which reduced the daily earnings of working-women to nine sous.Seventeen hours of toil，and nine sous a day！
Her creditors were more pitiless than ever.
The second-hand dealer，who had taken back nearly all his furniture，said to her incessantly，'When will you pay me，you hussy？'
What did they want of her，good God！
She felt that she was being hunted，and something of the wild beast developed in her.About the same time，Thenardier wrote to her that he had waited with decidedly too much amiability and that he must have a hundred francs at once；otherwise he would turn little Cosette out of doors，convalescent as she was from her heavy illness，into the cold and the streets，and that she might do what she liked with herself，and die if she chose.
'A hundred francs，'thought Fantine.'But in what trade can one earn a hundred sous a day？'
'Come！'said she，'let us sell what is left.'
The unfortunate girl became a woman of the town.
BOOK FIFTH.——THE DESCENT
Ⅺ CHRISTUS NOS LIBERAVIT
What is this history of Fantine？
It is society purchasing a slave.
From whom？
From misery.
From hunger，cold，isolation，destitution.
A dolorous bargain.A soul for a morsel of bread.
Misery offers；society accepts.
The sacred law of Jesus Christ governs our civilization，but it does not，as yet，permeate it；it is said that slavery has disappeared from European civilization.
This is a mistake.
It still exists；but it weighs only upon the woman，and it is called prostitution.
It weighs upon the woman，that is to say，upon grace，weakness，beauty，maternity.
This is not one of the least of man's disgraces.
At the point in this melancholy drama which we have now reached，nothing is left to Fantine of that which she had formerly been.
She has become marble in becoming mire.
Whoever touches her feels cold.She passes；she endures you；she ignores you；she is the severe and dishonored figure.
Life and the social order have said their last word for her.
