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 situated. 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 consumed. 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. After all it was a ruse of the Thénardiers to obtain money. Cosette was not ill. Fantine threw her mirror out of the window. She had long since quitted her cell on the second floor for an attic with only a latch to fasten it, next the roof; one of those attics whose extremity forms an angle with the floor, and knocks you on the head every instant. The poor occupant can reach the end of his chamber as he can the end of his destiny, only by bending over more and more.