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Updated: May 18, 2025
The first time that Javert beheld M. Madeleine clothed in the scarf which gave him authority over the town, he felt the sort of shudder which a watch-dog might experience on smelling a wolf in his master's clothes. From that time forth he avoided him as much as he possibly could.
Jean Valjean blew out the light and placed himself in this angle. Sister Simplice fell on her knees near the table. The door opened. Javert entered. The whispers of many men and the protestations of the portress were audible in the corridor. The nun did not raise her eyes. She was praying. The candle was on the chimney-piece, and gave but very little light.
O Monsieur Javert! it was you who gave orders that I am to be set free, was it not? Make inquiries, speak to my landlord; I am paying my rent now; they will tell you that I am perfectly honest. Ah! my God! I beg your pardon; I have unintentionally touched the damper of the stove, and it has made it smoke." M. Madeleine listened to her with profound attention.
It was even beating a little less feebly, as though the movement of the carriage had brought about a certain fresh access of life. Javert addressed the porter in a tone befitting the government, and the presence of the porter of a factious person. "Some person whose name is Gillenormand?" "Here. What do you want with him?" "His son is brought back." "His son?" said the porter stupidly.
Javert had reached one of those extremities. One of his anxieties consisted in being constrained to think. The very violence of all these conflicting emotions forced him to it. Thought was something to which he was unused, and which was peculiarly painful. In thought there always exists a certain amount of internal rebellion; and it irritated him to have that within him.
He had his hat in his hand, and was holding it out to them with a smile. At nightfall, Javert had posted his men and had gone into ambush himself between the trees of the Rue de la Barrieredes-Gobelins which faced the Gorbeau house, on the other side of the boulevard.
He shall be taken thither and put to death." There was some one who was more impassive at that moment than Enjolras, it was Javert. Here Jean Valjean made his appearance. He had been lost among the group of insurgents. He stepped forth and said to Enjolras: "You are the commander?" "Yes." "You thanked me a while ago." "In the name of the Republic.
To let a malefactor go free while he, Inspector Javert, took his pay from the government, was equally impossible. It seemed there was something higher and above his code of duty, something he had not come into collision with before. The uncertainty of the right thing to be done destroyed Javert, to whom life had hitherto been perfectly plain.
If by malice prepense Javert or Cuff is temporarily beguiled, it is simply for the purpose of showing that the writer himself is in reality a very much more ingenious person than even the subtle detective he depicts for the delectation of his readers.
"Who is 'I'?" "Jean Valjean." Javert thrust his bludgeon between his teeth, bent his knees, inclined his body, laid his two powerful hands on the shoulders of Jean Valjean, which were clamped within them as in a couple of vices, scrutinized him, and recognized him. Their faces almost touched. Javert's look was terrible.
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