ine, shorn of her locks of gold; Fantine, with her bloody lips,
because her teeth have been sold to purchase medicine for her sick
child--her child, yet a child of shame; Fantine, her mother's love
omnipotent, lying white, wasted, dying, expectantly looking toward the
door, with her heart beating like a wild bird, beating with its wings
against cage-bars, anxious for escape; Fantine, watching for her child
Cossette, watching in vain, but watching; Fantine, dying, glad because
Monsieur Madeleine has promised he will care for Cossette as if the
babe were his; Fantine, dead, with her face turned toward the door,
looking in death for the coming of her child,--Fantine affects us like
tears and sobbing set to music. Look at her; for a heroine is dead.
And Eponine, with the gray dawn of death whitening her cheeks and
gasping, "If--when--if when," now silent, for she is choked by the rush
of blood and stayed from speech by fierce stabs of pain, but
continuing, "When I am dead--a favor--a favor, Monsieur Marius [silence
once again to wrestle with the throes of death]--a favor--a favor when
I am dead [now her speech runs like frightened feet], if you will kiss
me; for indeed, Monsieur Marius, I think I loved you a little--I--I
shall feel--your kiss--in death." Lie quiet in the darkening night,
Eponine! Would you might have a queen's funeral, since you have shown
anew the moving miracle of woman's love!

Bishop Bienvenu is Hugo's hero as saint; and we can not deny him beauty
such as those "enskied and sainted" wear. This is the romancist's
tribute to a minister of God; and sweet the tribute is. With not a
few, the bishop is chief hero, next to Jean Valjean. He is redemptive,
like the purchase money of a slave. He is quixotic; he is not balanced
always, nor always wise; but he falls on the side of Christianity and
tenderness and goodness and love--a good way to fall, if one is to fall
at all. We love the bishop, and can not help it. He was good to the
poor, tender to the unerring, illuminative to those who were in the
moral dark, and came over people like a sunrise; crept into their
hearts for good, as a child creeps up into its father's arms, and
nestles there like a bird. Surely we love the bishop. He is a hero
saint. To be near him was to be neighborly with heaven. He was ever
minding people of God. Is there any such office in earth or heaven?
To look at this bishop always puts our heart in the mood of prayer, and