CHAPTER I IN WHAT MIRROR M. MADELEINE CONTEMPLATES HIS HAIR
The day had begun to dawn. Fantine had passed a sleepless and feverish night, filled with happy visions; at daybreak she fell asleep. Sister Simplice, who had been watching with her, availed herself of this slumber to go and prepare a new potion of chinchona. The worthy sister had been in the laboratory of the infirmary but a few moments, bending over her drugs and phials, and scrutinizing things very closely, on account of the dimness which the half-light of dawn spreads over all objects. Suddenly she raised her head and uttered a faint shriek. M. Madeleine stood before her; he had just entered silently.
"Is it you, Mr. Mayor?" she exclaimed.
He replied in a low voice:--
"How is that poor woman?"
"Not so bad just now; but we have been very uneasy."
She explained to him what had passed: that Fantine had been very ill the day before, and that she was better now, because she thought that the mayor had gone to Montfermeil to get her child. The sister dared not question the mayor; but she perceived plainly from his air that he had not come from there.
"All that is good," said he; "you were right not to undeceive her."
"Yes," responded the sister; "but now, Mr. Mayor, she will see you and will not see her child. What shall we say to her?"
He reflected for a moment.
"God will inspire us," said he.
"But we cannot tell a lie," murmured the sister, half aloud.
It was broad daylight in the room. The light fell full on M. Madeleine's face. The sister chanced to raise her eyes to it.
"Good God, sir!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you? Your hair is perfectly white!"
"White!" said he.
Sister Simplice had no mirror. She rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out the little glass which the doctor of the infirmary used to see whether a patient was dead and whether he no longer breathed. M. Madeleine took the mirror, looked at his hair, and said:--
"Well!"
He uttered the word indifferently, and as though his mind were on something else.
The sister felt chilled by something strange of which she caught a glimpse in all this.
He inquired:--
"Can I see her?"
"Is not Monsieur le Maire going to have her child brought back to her?" said the sister, hardly venturing to put the question.
"Of course; but it will take two or three days at least."
"If she were not to see Monsieur le Maire until that time," went on the sister, timidly, "she would not know that Monsieur le Maire had returned, and it would be easy to inspire her with patience; and when the child arrived, she would naturally think Monsieur le Maire had just come with the child. We should not have to enact a lie."
M. Madeleine seemed to reflect for a few moments; then he said with his calm gravity:--
"No, sister, I must see her. I may, perhaps, be in haste."
The nun did not appear to notice this word "perhaps," which communicated an obscure and singular sense to the words of the mayor's speech. She replied, lowering her eyes and her voice respectfully:--
"In that case, she is asleep; but Monsieur le Maire may enter."
He made some remarks about a door which shut badly, and the noise of which might awaken the sick woman; then he entered Fantine's chamber, approached the bed and drew aside the curtains. She was asleep. Her breath issued from her breast with that tragic sound which is peculiar to those maladies, and which breaks the hearts of mothers when they are watching through the night beside their sleeping child who is condemned to death. But this painful respiration hardly troubled a sort of ineffable serenity which overspread her countenance, and which transfigured her in her sleep. Her pallor had become whiteness; her cheeks were crimson; her long golden lashes, the only beauty of her youth and her virginity which remained to her, palpitated, though they remained closed and drooping. Her whole person was trembling with an indescribable unfolding of wings, all ready to open wide and bear her away, which could be felt as they rustled, though they could not be seen. To see her thus, one would never have dreamed that she was an invalid whose life was almost despaired of. She resembled rather something on the point of soaring away than something on the point of dying.
The branch trembles when a hand approaches it to pluck a flower, and seems to both withdraw and to offer itself at one and the same time. The human body has something of this tremor when the instant arrives in which the mysterious fingers of Death are about to pluck the soul.
M. Madeleine remained for some time motionless beside that bed, gazing in turn upon the sick woman and the crucifix, as he had done two months before, on the day when he had come for the first time to see her in that asylum. They were both still there in the same attitude-- she sleeping, he praying; only now, after the lapse of two months, her hair was gray and his was white.
The sister had not entered with him. He stood beside the bed, with his finger on his lips, as though there were some one in the chamber whom he must enjoin to silence.
She opened her eyes, saw him, and said quietly, with a smile:--
"And Cosette?"
一 马德兰先生在什么样的镜子里看自己的头发
曙光初露。芳汀发了一夜烧，并且失眠，可是这一夜却充满了种种快乐的幻象，到早晨，她睡着了。守夜的散普丽斯姆姆乘她睡着时，便又跑去预备了一份奎宁水。这位勤恳的姆姆待在疗养室的药房里已经好一会了，她弯着腰，仔细看她那些药品和药瓶，因为天还没有大亮，有层迷雾蒙着这些东西。她忽然转过身来，细声叫了一下。马德兰先生出现在她的面前。
他刚静悄悄地走了进来。
“是您，市长先生！”她叫道。
他低声回答说：
“那可怜的妇人怎样了？”
“现在还好。我们很担了番心呢！”
她把经过情形告诉他，她说这一晚芳汀的状况很不好，现在已经好些，因为她以为市长先生到孟费?去领她的孩子了。姆姆不敢问市长先生，但是她看神气，知道他不是从那里来的。
“这样很好，”他说，“您没有道破她的幻想，做得妥当。”
“是的，”姆姆接着说，“但是现在，市长先生，她就会看见您，却看不见她的孩子，我们将怎样向她说呢？”
他呆呆地想了一会。
“上帝会启发我们的。”他说。
“可是我们总不能说谎。”姆姆吞吞吐吐地细声说。
屋子里已大亮了。阳光正照着马德兰先生的脸。姆姆无意中抬起头来。
“我的上帝，先生啊！”她叫道，“您遇见了什么事？您的头发全白了！”
“白了！”他说。
散普丽斯姆姆从来没有镜子，她到一个药囊里去搜，取出一面小镜子，这镜子是病房里的医生用来检验病人是否已经气绝身亡的。
马德兰先生拿了这面镜子，照着他的头发，说了声“怪事！”
他随口说了这句话，仿佛他还在想着旁的事。
姆姆觉得离奇不可解，登时冷了半截。
他说：
“我可以看她吗？”
“市长先生不打算把她孩子领回来吗？”姆姆说，她连这样一句话也几乎不敢问。
“我当然会把她领回来，但是至少非得有两三天的工夫不可。”
“假使她在孩子来之前见不到市长先生，”姆姆战战兢兢地说，“她就不会知道市长先生已经回来了，我们便容易安她的心；等到孩子到了，她自然会认为市长先生是和孩子一同来的。我们便不用说谎了。”
马德兰先生好象思量了一会，随后他又带着他那种镇静沉重的态度说：
“不行，我的姆姆，我应当去看看她。我的时间也许不多了。”
“也许”两个字给了马德兰先生的话一种深奥奇特的意味，不过这女信徒好象没有注意到。她低着眼睛恭恭敬敬地回答：
“既是这样，市长先生进去就是，她正在休息。”
那扇门启闭不大灵，他怕有声音惊醒病人，他细心旋开，走进了芳汀的屋子，走到床前，把床帷稍微掀开一点。她正睡着。她胸中嘘出的呼吸声叫人听了心痛，那种声音是害着那种病的人所特有的，也是叫那些在夜间守护着无可挽救而仍然睡着的孩子的慈母们所不忍听的。但是在她脸上，有一种无可形容的安闲态度，使她在睡眠中显得另有一番神色，那种苦痛的呼吸并不怎么影响她。她的面容已由黄变白，两颊却绯红。她那两对纤长的金黄睫毛是从她童贞时期和青春时期留下的唯一的美色了，尽管是垂闭着的，却还频频颤动。她全身也都颤抖着，那种颤动别人是只能感到而看不见的、有如行将助她飞去的翅膀，欲展不展，待飞且住似的。看到她这种神态，我们永远不会相信躺在那里的竟是一个濒危的病人。与其说她象个命在旦夕的人，毋宁说她象个振翅待飞的鸟。
我们伸手采花时，花枝总半迎半拒地颤动着。鬼手摄人灵魂时，人的身体也有一种类似的战栗。
马德兰先生在床边呆呆地立了一会，望望病人，又望望那耶稣受难像，正如两个月前他初次到这屋子里来看她时的情景一样。那时他们俩，正和今日一样，一个熟睡，一个祈祷；不过现在，经过了两个月的光阴，她的头发已转成灰色，而他的头发则变成雪白的了。
姆姆没有和他一同进来。他立在床边，一个手指压在嘴上，仿佛他不这样做，屋子里就会有人要出声气似的。
她睁开眼睛，看见了他，带着微笑，安闲地说：
“珂赛特呢？”
