The Simplicity of Doing
Fantine did not remember falling asleep in her chair, not till she was awoken by someone shaking her shoulders.
"Madame! It's already past six in the morning," Gilles' frantic voice greeted her as she opened her eyes.
Fantine bolted upright in her seat. "Oh good morning then! I did not hear you or your mother come in!" she exclaimed.
Gilles scratched his head. "Maman is still with Papa. He hasn't woken up yet," he said grimly.
"What really happened to him?" Fantine asked concernedly.
Gilles bit his lip. "Papa and some of his friends were working in a shop when a shelf near them suddenly fell. Papa got hit in the head and he fell down---" he began shakily.
Fantine bit back an expression of shock. Instead, she held the boy by his shoulders. "Your father is a strong man, and he will get better. Till then, you have to be strong for your mother," she said quietly.
Gilles nodded. "You? Have you lost your father?"
"I don't remember him at all," Fantine replied. "Are you going back to the infirmary?"
"Maman said I should rest. And I'll take care of Cosette," Gilles said more brightly.
Fantine managed a smile. "Be good then. Now, I'm off to work," she said before running off upstairs to where she had left Cosette fast asleep on the bed. The little girl still dozed even while Fantine rushed to ready for the day. For a moment, as Fantine watched her daughter, she could not help but envy the cherubic slumber the child still enjoyed.
"God help us," she murmured as she ran down the stairs and out the door.
Fantine's main work in the factory was to thread the finished glass beads so that they could be sold in strands and bunches. While she worked to coax a stubborn bead onto the string, she could not help but overhear the chatter of the other women who had the same job.
"I should want to go to Paris one day. This place is dreadfully rustic in comparison!" a middle-aged woman said dramatically.
"On the contrary, it is a perilous place. Morals gone and urban rabble there," an older woman gesticulated.
"Well, one of us here should know," a younger girl said impishly. "Fantine!" she called.
Fantine nearly dropped the strand she was holding. "What then?" she asked.
"Is it true you have been to Paris?" the first woman asked.
"For a while," Fantine said with a smile.
"And you had a job there?"
"As a seamstress."
The other women exchanged glances. "So you know something of Parisian society then?" the youngest asked.
Fantine sighed, bidding herself to check her tongue. "You meet an awful lot of people in Paris—more than here, I should say. Girls like us, bourgeoisie, working men, a few criminals, and yes, some fine students and wealthy men."
"Are they handsome?" the youngest asked before she was pinched by her neighbor.
"Ladies! What is this I see when there is work to be done?" Madame Victurnien asked sharply as she passed by holding a basket.
"Just asking Fantine about Paris, Madame!" someone said cheerily.
The crone's indignant expression soured even further. "You are aware that idle chatter and laziness cannot be tolerated here!" she said crossly to Fantine.
Fantine lowered her gaze to the floor, knowing it would be unwise to look Madame Victurnien in the eye.. "It will not happen again, Madame."
"See to it that it doesn't," Madame Victurnien snapped, cursorily examining the strand Fantine was threading before walking off.
The workshop table was silent for a few moments. At last, the youngest of the girls dared to clear her throat. "So what then?" she asked Fantine.
Fantine swallowed hard. "Later. But tell me, Louise, is there still a letter-writer in this town?"
Louise nodded. "Not far from here, two doors down. And there are others."
"Thank you," Fantine whispered. "Does he charge much?"
Louise shrugged. "It depends. More for big words."
"I do hope it won't be very much then," she murmured. "Well, Felix is still luckier. He knows big words and he doesn't need to have someone write them down for him," she thought ruefully as she turned back to her work.