Marguerite halted on the threshold, petrified at this tremendous wastefulness, and exclaimed:--
"Lord! the candle is all burned out!
Something has happened."
Then she looked at Fantine, who turned toward her her head bereft of its hair.
Fantine had grown ten years older since the preceding night.
"Jesus!" said Marguerite, "what is the matter with you, Fantine?"
"Nothing," replied Fantine.
"Quite the contrary.
My child will not die of that frightful malady, for lack of succor.
I am content."
So saying, she pointed out to the spinster two napoleons which were glittering on the table.
"Ah!
Jesus God!" cried Marguerite.
"Why, it is a fortune! Where did you get those louis d'or?"
"I got them," replied Fantine.
At the same time she smiled.
The candle illuminated her countenance. It was a bloody smile.
A reddish saliva soiled the corners of her lips, and she had a black hole in her mouth.
The two teeth had been extracted.
She sent the forty francs to Montfermeil.