“All of you, all who are present—consider me worthy of pity, do you not? Good God! When I think of what I was on the point of doing, I consider that I am to be envied. Nevertheless, I should have preferred not to have had this occur.” He withdrew, and the door closed behind him as it had opened, for those who do certain sovereign things are always sure of being served by some one in the crowd. Less than an hour after this, the verdict of the jury freed the said Champmathieu from all accusations; and Champmathieu, being at once released, went off in a state of stupefaction, thinking that all men were fools, and comprehending nothing of this vision. BOOK EIGHTH—A COUNTER-BLOW CHAPTER I—IN WHAT MIRROR M. MADELEINE CONTEMPLATES HIS HAIR The day had begun to dawn. Fantine had passed a sleepless and feverish night, filled with happy visions; at daybreak she fell asleep. Sister Simplice, who had been watching with her, availed herself of this slumber to go and prepare a new potion of chinchona. The worthy sister had been in the laboratory of the infirmary but a few moments, bending over her drugs and phials, and scrutinizing things very closely, on account of the dimness which the half-light of dawn spreads over all objects. Suddenly she raised her head and uttered a faint shriek. M. Madeleine stood before her; he had just entered silently. “Is it you, Mr. Mayor?” she exclaimed. He replied in a low voice:— “How is that poor woman?” “Not so bad just now; but we have been very uneasy.” She explained to him what had passed: that Fantine had been very ill the day before, and that she was better now, because she thought that the mayor had gone to Montfermeil to get her child. The sister dared not question the mayor; but she perceived plainly from his air that he had not come from there. “All that is good,” said he; “you were right not to undeceive her.” “Yes,” responded the sister; “but now, Mr. Mayor, she will see you and will not see her child. What shall we say to her?” He reflected for a moment. “God will inspire us,” said he. “But we cannot tell a lie,” murmured the sister, half aloud. It was broad daylight in the room. The light fell full on M. Madeleine’s face. The sister chanced to raise her eyes to it. “Good God, sir!” she exclaimed; “what has happened to you? Your hair is perfectly white!” “White!” said he. Sister Simplice had no mirror. She rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out the little glass which the doctor of the infirmary used to see whether a patient was dead and whether he no longer breathed. M. Madeleine took the mirror, looked at his hair, and said:— “Well!” He uttered the word indifferently, and as though his mind were on something else. The sister felt chilled by something strange of which she caught a glimpse in all this. He inquired:— “Can I see her?” “Is not Monsieur le Maire going to have her child brought back to her?” said the sister, hardly venturing to put the question.