these ladies here. When it is seen that I am very calm,
they will say, 'She must have her child.'"

M. Madeleine was sitting on a chair beside the bed. She turned towards
him; she was making a visible effort to be calm and "very good," as she
expressed it in the feebleness of illness which resembles infancy, in
order that, seeing her so peaceable, they might make no difficulty about
bringing Cosette to her. But while she controlled herself she could not
refrain from questioning M. Madeleine.

"Did you have a pleasant trip, Monsieur le Maire? Oh! how good you were
to go and get her for me! Only tell me how she is. Did she stand the
journey well? Alas! she will not recognize me. She must have forgotten
me by this time, poor darling! Children have no memories. They are like
birds. A child sees one thing to-day and another thing to-morrow, and
thinks of nothing any longer. And did she have white linen? Did those
Thenardiers keep her clean? How have they fed her? Oh! if you only knew
how I have suffered, putting such questions as that to myself during all
the time of my wretchedness. Now, it is all past. I am happy. Oh, how I
should like to see her! Do you think her pretty, Monsieur le Maire?
Is not my daughter beautiful? You must have been very cold in that
diligence! Could she not be brought for just one little instant? She
might be taken away directly afterwards. Tell me; you are the master; it
could be so if you chose!"

He took her hand. "Cosette is beautiful," he said, "Cosette is well.
You shall see her soon; but calm yourself; you are talking with too much
vivacity, and you are throwing your arms out from under the clothes, and
that makes you cough."

In fact, fits of coughing interrupted Fantine at nearly every word.

Fantine did not murmur; she feared that she had injured by her too
passionate lamentations the confidence which she was desirous of
inspiring, and she began to talk of indifferent things.

"Montfermeil is quite pretty, is it not? People go there on pleasure
parties in summer. Are the Thenardiers prosperous? There are not many
travellers in their parts. That inn of theirs is a sort of a cook-shop."

M. Madeleine was still holding her hand, and gazing at her with anxiety;
it was evident that he had come to tell her things before which his mind
now hesitated. The doctor, having finished his visit, retired. Sister
Simplice remained alone with them.

But in the midst of this pause Fantine exclaimed