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‘Two napoleons.’
‘That makes forty francs.’
‘Yes,’ said Fantine; ‘that makes forty francs.’
She remained thoughtful, and began her work. At the ex-
piration of a quarter of an hour she left her sewing and went
to read the Thenardiers’ letter once more on the staircase.
On her return, she said to Marguerite, who was at work
beside her:—
‘What is a miliary fever? Do you know?’
‘Yes,’ answered the old spinster; ‘it is a disease.’
‘Does it require many drugs?’
‘Oh! terrible drugs.’
‘How does one get it?’
‘It is a malady that one gets without knowing how.’
‘Then it attacks children?’
‘Children in particular.’
‘Do people die of it?’
‘They may,’ said Marguerite.
Fantine left the room and went to read her letter once
more on the staircase.
That evening she went out, and was seen to turn her steps
in the direction of the Rue de Paris, where the inns are situ-
ated.
The next morning, when Marguerite entered Fantine’s
room before daylight,—for they always worked together,
and in this manner used only one candle for the two,—
she found Fantine seated on her bed, pale and frozen. She
had not lain down. Her cap had fallen on her knees. Her
candle had burned all night, and was almost entirely con-