Her whole person was trembling with an indescribable unfolding of wings, all ready to open wide and bear her away, which could be felt as they rustled, though they could not be seen. To see her thus, one would never have dreamed that she was an invalid whose life was almost despaired of.
She resembled rather something on the point of soaring away than something on the point of dying.
The branch trembles when a hand approaches it to pluck a flower, and seems to both withdraw and to offer itself at one and the same time. The human body has something of this tremor when the instant arrives in which the mysterious fingers of Death are about to pluck the soul.
M. Madeleine remained for some time motionless beside that bed, gazing in turn upon the sick woman and the crucifix, as he had done two months before, on the day when he had come for the first time to see her in that asylum.
They were both still there in the same attitude-- she sleeping, he praying; only now, after the lapse of two months, her hair was gray and his was white.
The sister had not entered with him.
He stood beside the bed, with his finger on his lips, as though there were some one in the chamber whom he must enjoin to silence.
She opened her eyes, saw him, and said quietly, with a smile:--
"And Cosette?"
BOOK EIGHTH.--A COUNTER-BLOW
CHAPTER II
FANTINE HAPPY
She made no movement of either surprise or of joy; she was joy itself. That simple question, "And Cosette?" was put with so profound a faith, with so much certainty, with such a complete absence of disquiet and of doubt, that he found not a word of reply. She continued:--
"I knew that you were there.
I was asleep, but I saw you. I have seen you for a long, long time.
I have been following you with my eyes all night long.
You were in a glory, and you had around you all sorts of celestial forms."
He raised his glance to the crucifix.