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joy, she was the shadow of herself; now she was the spec-
tre of herself. Physical suffering had completed the work
of moral suffering. This creature of five and twenty had a
wrinkled brow, flabby cheeks, pinched nostrils, teeth from
which the gums had receded, a leaden complexion, a bony
neck, prominent shoulder-blades, frail limbs, a clayey skin,
and her golden hair was growing out sprinkled with gray.
Alas! how illness improvises old-age!
At mid-day the physician returned, gave some directions,
inquired whether the mayor had made his appearance at the
infirmary, and shook his head.
M. Madeleine usually came to see the invalid at three
o’clock. As exactness is kindness, he was exact.
About half-past two, Fantine began to be restless. In the
course of twenty minutes, she asked the nun more than ten
times, ‘What time is it, sister?’
Three o’clock struck. At the third stroke, Fantine sat up
in bed; she who could, in general, hardly turn over, joined
her yellow, fleshless hands in a sort of convulsive clasp,
and the nun heard her utter one of those profound sighs
which seem to throw off dejection. Then Fantine turned and
looked at the door.
No one entered; the door did not open.
She remained thus for a quarter of an hour, her eyes riv-
eted on the door, motionless and apparently holding her
breath. The sister dared not speak to her. The clock struck a
quarter past three. Fantine fell back on her pillow.
She said nothing, but began to plait the sheets once
more.