ne was one of those beings who blossom, so to speak, from the dregs
of the people. Though she had emerged from the most unfathomable depths
of social shadow, she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the
unknown. She was born at M. sur M. Of what parents? Who can say? She had
never known father or mother. She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She
had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory
still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal
name; the Church no longer existed. She bore the name which pleased
the first random passer-by, who had encountered her, when a very small
child, running bare-legged in the street. She received the name as she
received the water from the clouds upon her brow when it rained. She was
called little Fantine. No one knew more than that. This human creature
had entered life in just this way. At the age of ten, Fantine quitted
the town and went to service with some farmers in the neighborhood. At
fifteen she came to Paris "to seek her fortune." Fantine was beautiful,
and remained pure as long as she could. She was a lovely blonde, with
fine teeth. She had gold and pearls for her dowry; but her gold was on
her head, and her pearls were in her mouth.

She worked for her living; then, still for the sake of her living,--for
the heart, also, has its hunger,--she loved.

She loved Tholomyes.

An amour for him; passion for her. The streets of the Latin quarter,
filled with throngs of students and grisettes, saw the beginning of
their dream. Fantine had long evaded Tholomyes in the mazes of the hill
of the Pantheon, where so many adventurers twine and untwine, but in
such a way as constantly to encounter him again. There is a way of
avoiding which resembles seeking. In short, the eclogue took place.

Blachevelle, Listolier, and Fameuil formed a sort of group of which
Tholomyes was the head. It was he who possessed the wit.

Tholomyes was the antique old student; he was rich; he had an income of
four thousand francs; four thousand francs! a splendid scandal on
Mount Sainte-Genevieve. Tholomyes was a fast man of thirty, and badly
preserved. He was wrinkled and toothless, and he had the beginning of a
bald spot, of which he himself said with sadness, the skull at thirty,
the knee at forty. His digestion was mediocre, and he had been attacked
by a watering in one eye. But in proportion as his youth disappeared,
gayety was kindled; he replaced h