Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [113]
“Keep up a trot, and double drink-money.”
In one of the jolts the whiffle-tree broke.aq
“Monsieur,” said the postillion, “the whiffle-tree is broken; I do not know how to harness my horse now, this road is very bad at night, if you will come back and stop at Tinques, we can be at Arras early to-morrow morning.”
He answered: “Have you a piece of string and a knife?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
He cut off the limb of a tree and made a whiffle-tree of it.
This was another loss of twenty minutes; but they started off at a gallop.
The plain was dark. A low fog, thick and black, was creeping over the hill-tops and floating away like smoke. There were glimmering flashes from the clouds. A strong wind, which came from the sea, made a sound all around the horizon like the moving of furniture. Everything that he caught a glimpse of had an attitude of terror. How all things shudder under the terrible breath of night!
The cold penetrated him. He had not eaten since the evening before. He recalled vaguely to mind his other night adventure in the great plain near D—, eight years before; and it seemed yesterday to him.
5 (6)
SISTER SIMPLICE PUT TO THE TEST
MEANWHILE, at that very moment, Fantine was in ecstasies.
She had passed a very bad night. Cough frightful, fever redoubled; she had bad dreams. In the morning, when the doctor came, she was delirious. He appeared to be alarmed, and asked to be informed as soon as Monsieur Madeleine came.
All the morning she was low-spirited, spoke little and was making folds in the sheets, murmuring in a low voice over some calculations which appeared to be calculations of distances. Her eyes were hollow and fixed. The light seemed almost gone out, but then, at moments, they would be lighted up and sparkle like stars. It seems as though at the approach of a certain dark hour, the light of heaven fills those who are leaving the light of earth.
Whenever Sister Simplice asked her how she was, she answered invariably: “Well. I would like to see Monsieur Madeleine.”
A few months earlier, when Fantine had lost the last of her modesty, her last shame and her last happiness, she was the shadow of herself; now she was the spectre of herself. Physical suffering had completed the work of moral suffering. This creature of twenty-five years had a wrinkled forehead, flabby cheeks, pinched nostrils, shrivelled gums, a leaden complexion, a bony neck, protruding collar-bones, skinny limbs, an earthy skin, and her fair hair was mixed with grey. Alas! how well sickness improvises old age.
At noon the doctor came again, left a few prescriptions, inquired whether the mayor had been at the infirmary, and shook his head.
Monsieur Madeleine usually came at three o‘clock to see the sick woman. As promptness was kindness, he was prompt.
About half-past two, Fantine began to be agitated. In the space of twenty minutes, she asked the nun more than ten times: “My sister, what time is it?”
The clock struck three. At the third stroke, Fantine rose up in bed—ordinarily she could hardly turn herself—she joined her two shrunken and yellow hands in a sort of convulsive clasp, and the nun heard from her one of those deep sighs which seem to raise a great weight. Then Fantine turned and looked towards the door.
Nobody came in; the door did not open.
She sat so for a quarter of an hour, her eyes fixed upon the door, motionless, and as if holding her breath. The sister dared not speak. The church clock struck the quarter. Fantine fell back upon her pillow.
She said nothing, and again began to make folds in the sheet.
A half-hour passed, then an hour, but no one came; every time the clock struck, Fantine rose and looked towards the door, then she fell back.
Her thought could be clearly seen, but she pronounced no name, she did not complain, she found no fault. She only coughed mournfully. One would have said that something dark was settling down upon her. She was livid, and her lips were blue. She smiled at times.
The clock struck five. Then the sister heard her speak very low and gently: “But since I am going