The incidents the reader is about to peruse were not all known at M. sur M. But the small portion of them which became known left such a memory in that town that a serious gap would exist in this book if we did not narrate them in their most minute details. Among these details the reader will encounter two or three improbable circumstances, which we preserve out of respect for the truth.
On the afternoon following the visit of Javert, M. Madeleine went to see Fantine according to his wont.
Before entering Fantine's room, he had Sister Simplice summoned.
The two nuns who performed the services of nurse in the infirmary, Lazariste ladies, like all sisters of charity, bore the names of Sister Perpetue and Sister Simplice.
Sister Perpetue was an ordinary villager, a sister of charity in a coarse style, who had entered the service of God as one enters any other service. She was a nun as other women are cooks. This type is not so very rare. The monastic orders gladly accept this heavy peasant earthenware, which is easily fashioned into a Capuchin or an Ursuline. These rustics are utilized for the rough work of devotion. The transition from a drover to a Carmelite is not in the least violent; the one turns into the other without much effort; the fund of ignorance common to the village and the cloister is a preparation ready at hand, and places the boor at once on the same footing as the monk: a little more amplitude in the smock, and it becomes a frock. Sister Perpetue was a robust nun from Marines near Pontoise, who chattered her patois, droned, grumbled, sugared the potion according to the bigotry or the hypocrisy of the invalid, treated her patients abruptly, roughly, was crabbed with the dying, almost flung God in their faces, stoned their death agony with prayers mumbled in a rage; was bold, honest, and ruddy.
Sister Simplice was white, with a waxen pallor. Beside Sister Perpetue, she was the taper beside the candle. Vincent de Paul has divinely traced the features of the Sister of Charity in these admirable words, in which he mingles as much freedom as servitude: "They shall have for their convent only the house of the sick; for cell only a hired room; for chapel only their parish church; for cloister only the streets of the town and the wards of the hospitals; for enclosure only obedience; for gratings only the fear of God; for veil only modesty." This ideal was realized in the living person of Sister Simplice: she had never been young, and it seemed as though she would never grow old. No one could have told Sister Simplice's age. She was a person--we dare not say a woman--who was gentle, austere, well-bred, cold, and who had never lied. She was so gentle that she appeared fragile; but she was more solid than granite. She touched the unhappy with fingers that were charmingly pure and fine. There was, so to speak, silence in her speech; she said just what was necessary, and she possessed a tone of voice which would have equally edified a confessional or enchanted a drawing-room. This delicacy accommodated itself to the serge gown, finding in this harsh contact a continual reminder of heaven and of God. Let us emphasize one detail. Never to have lied, never to have said, for any interest whatever, even in indifference, any single thing which was not the truth, the sacred truth, was Sister Simplice's distinctive trait; it was the accent of her virtue. She was almost renowned in the congregation for this imperturbable veracity. The Abbe Sicard speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to the deaf-mute Massieu. However pure and sincere we may be, we all bear upon our candor the crack of the little, innocent lie. She did not. Little lie, innocent lie--does such a thing exist? To lie is the absolute form of evil. To lie a little is not possible: he who lies, lies the whole lie. To lie is the very face of the demon. Satan has two names; he is called Satan and Lying. That is what she thought; and as she thought, so she did. The result was the whiteness which we have mentioned--a whiteness which covered even her lips and her eyes with radiance. Her smile was white, her glance was white. There was not a single spider's web, not a grain of dust, on the glass window of that conscience. On entering the order of Saint Vincent de Paul, she had taken the name of Simplice by special choice. Simplice of Sicily, as we know, is the saint who preferred to allow both her breasts to be torn off rather than to say that she had been born at Segesta when she had been born at Syracuse-- a lie which would have saved her. This patron saint suited this soul.
Sister Simplice, on her entrance into the order, had had two faults which she had gradually corrected: she had a taste for dainties, and she liked to receive letters. She never read anything but a book of prayers printed in Latin, in coarse type. She did not understand Latin, but she understood the book.
This pious woman had conceived an affection for Fantine, probably feeling a latent virtue there, and she had devoted herself almost exclusively to her care.
M. Madeleine took Sister Simplice apart and recommended Fantine to her in a singular tone, which the sister recalled later on.
On leaving the sister, he approached Fantine.
Fantine awaited M. Madeleine's appearance every day as one awaits a ray of warmth and joy. She said to the sisters, "I only live when Monsieur le Maire is here."
She had a great deal of fever that day. As soon as she saw M. Madeleine she asked him:--
"And Cosette?"
He replied with a smile:--
"Soon."
M. Madeleine was the same as usual with Fantine. Only he remained an hour instead of half an hour, to Fantine's great delight. He urged every one repeatedly not to allow the invalid to want for anything. It was noticed that there was a moment when his countenance became very sombre. But this was explained when it became known that the doctor had bent down to his ear and said to him, "She is losing ground fast."
Then he returned to the town-hall, and the clerk observed him attentively examining a road map of France which hung in his study. He wrote a few figures on a bit of paper with a pencil.
我们将要读到的那些事，在滨海蒙特勒伊并没有全部被人知道，但是已经流传开了的那一点，在那城里却留下了深刻的印象；假使我们不详详细细地记述下来，就会成为本书的一大漏洞。
在那些细微的情节里，读者将遇见两三处似乎不可能真有其事的经过，但是我们为了尊重事实，仍旧保存下来。
在沙威走访的那个下午，马德兰先生仍照常去看芳汀。
他在进入芳汀的病房以前，已找人去请散普丽斯姆姆了。
在疗养室服务的两个修女叫佩尔佩迪姆姆和散普丽斯姆姆，她们和所有其他做慈善事业的姆姆们一样，都是遣使会的修女。
佩尔佩迪姆姆是个极普通的农村姑娘，为慈善服务，颇形粗俗，皈依上帝，也不过等于就业。她做教徒，正如别人当厨娘一样。那种人绝不稀罕。各种教会的修道院都乐于收容那种粗笨的乡间土货，一举手而变成嘉布遣会修士或圣于尔絮勒会修女。那样的乡村气质可以替宗教做些粗重的工作。从一个牧童变成一个圣衣会修士，毫无不合适的地方；从这一个变成那一个，不会有多大困难，乡村和寺院同是蒙昧无知的，它们的共同基础是早已存在的，因此乡民一下就可以和寺僧平起平坐。罩衫放宽一点，便成了僧衣。那佩尔佩迪姆姆是个体粗力壮的修女，生在蓬图瓦兹附近的马灵城，一口土音，喜欢多话，呶呶不休，依照病人信神或假冒为善的程度来斟酌汤药中的白糖分量，时常唐突病人，和临终的人闹闲气，几乎把上帝摔在他们的脸上，气冲冲地对着垂死的人乱念祈祷文，鲁莽、诚实、朱砂脸。
散普丽斯姆姆却和白蜡一样白。她在佩尔佩迪姆姆身旁，就好象牛脂烛旁的细蜡烛。味增爵在下面这几句名言里已经神妙地把一些作慈善事业的姆姆的面目刻画出来了，并且把她们的*和劳役融成了一片：“她们的修道院只是病院，静修室只是一间租来的屋子，圣殿只是她们那教区的礼拜堂，回廊只是城里的街道和医院里的病房，围墙只是服从，铁栅栏只是对上帝的畏惧，面幕只是和颜悦色。”散普丽斯姆姆完全体现了那种理想。谁也看不出散普丽斯姆姆的年纪，她从不曾有过青春，似乎也永远不会老。那是个安静、严肃、友好、冷淡，从来不曾说过谎的人，我们不敢说她是个妇人。她和蔼到近于脆弱，坚强到好比花岗石。她用她那纤细白暂的手指接触病人。在她的言语中，我们可以说，有寂静，她只说必要的话，并且她嗓子的声音可以建起一个忏悔座，又同时可以美化一个客厅。那种细腻和她的粗呢裙袍有相得益彰的妙用，它给人的粗野的感觉，倒使人时时想到天国和上帝。还有件小事应当着重指出。她从不曾说谎，从不曾为任何目的、或无目的地说过一句不实在的、不是真正实在的话，这一点便是散普丽斯姆姆突出的性格，也是她美德中的特点。她因那种无可动摇的诚信，在教会里几乎是有口皆碑的。西伽尔教士在给聋哑的马西欧的一封信里谈到过散普丽斯姆姆。无论我们是怎样诚挚、忠实、纯洁，在我们的良心上，大家总有一些小小的、不足为害的谎话的裂痕。而她呢，丝毫没有。小小的谎话，不足为害的谎话，那种事存在吗？说谎是绝对的恶。说一点点谎都是不行的；说一句谎话等于说全部谎话；说谎是魔鬼的真面目；撒旦有两个名字，他叫撒旦，又叫谎话。这就是她所想的。并且她怎样想，就怎样作。因此她有我们说过的那种白色，那白色的光辉把她的嘴唇和眼睛全笼罩起来了。她的笑容是白的，她的目光是白的。在那颗良心的水晶体上没有一点灰尘、一丝蜘蛛网。她在皈依味增爵时，便特地选了散普丽斯做名字。我们知道西西里的散普丽斯是个圣女，她是生在锡腊库扎的，假使她肯说谎，说她是生在塞吉斯特的，就可以救自己一命，但是她宁肯让人除去她的双乳，也不肯说谎。这位圣女正和散普丽斯姆姆的心灵完全一样。
散普丽斯姆姆在加入教会时，原有两个弱点，现在她已逐渐克服了；她从前爱吃甜食，喜欢别人寄信给她。她素来只读一本拉丁文的大字祈祷书。她不懂拉丁文，但是懂那本书。
那位虔诚的贞女和芳汀情意相投了，她也许感到了那种内心的美德，因此她几乎是竭诚照顾芳汀。
马德兰先生把散普丽斯姆姆引到一边，用一种奇特的声音嘱咐她照顾芳汀，那位姆姆直到后来才回忆起那种声音的奇特。
他离开了那位姆姆，又走到芳汀的身边。
芳汀每天等待马德兰先生的出现，好象等待一种温暖和欢乐的光。她常向那些姆姆说：
“市长先生不来，我真活不成。”
那一天，她的体温很高。她刚看见马德兰先生，便问他：
“珂赛特呢？”
他带着笑容回答：
“快来了。”
马德兰先生对芳汀还是和平日一样。不过平日他只待半个钟头，这一天，却待了一个钟头，芳汀大为高兴。他再三嘱咐大家，不要让病人缺少任何东西。大家注意到他的神色在某一时刻显得非常沉郁。后来大家知道那医生曾附在他耳边说过“她的体力大减”，也就明白他神色沉郁的原因了。
随后，他回到市*，办公室的侍者看见他正细心研究挂在他办公室里的一张法国公路图。他还用铅笔在一张纸上写了几个数字。
