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.
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:— 'What are you doing? ' M. Madeleine had been there for an hour. He had been waiting for Fantine to awake.
He took her hand, felt of her pulse, and replied:— 'How do you feel? ' 'Well, I have slept,' she replied; 'I think that I am better. It is nothing.
' He answered, responding to the first question which she had put to him as though he had just heard it:— 'I was praying to the martyr there on high. ' 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.