Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 24, 2025
He was forced to acknowledge that goodness did exist. This convict had been good. And he himself, unprecedented circumstance, had just been good also. So he was becoming depraved. He found that he was a coward. He conceived a horror of himself. Javert's ideal, was not to be human, to be grand, to be sublime; it was to be irreproachable. Now, he had just failed in this.
He was sought among the dead, he was not there. He was evidently a prisoner. Combeferre said to Enjolras: "They have our friend; we have their agent. Are you set on the death of that spy?" "Yes," replied Enjolras; "but less so than on the life of Jean Prouvaire." This took place in the tap-room near Javert's post.
As the affair in the station-house had been bruited about, the post-mistress and some other persons who saw the letter before it was sent off, and who recognized Javert's handwriting on the cover, thought that he was sending in his resignation. M. Madeleine made haste to write to the Thenardiers. Fantine owed them one hundred and twenty francs.
This gentleman of property was very shy, never coming out except in the evening, speaking to no one, except, occasionally to the poor, and never allowing any one to approach him. He wore a horrible old yellow frock-coat, which was worth many millions, being all wadded with bank-bills. This piqued Javert's curiosity in a decided manner.
They sought the ex-mayor of M. sur M. Javert was summoned to Paris to throw light on their researches. Javert had, in fact, rendered powerful assistance in the recapture of Jean Valjean. Javert's zeal and intelligence on that occasion had been remarked by M. Chabouillet, secretary of the Prefecture under Comte Angles.
"I have never known but one man who could take the place of a screw, and he was that convict." "Ah! It is crushing me!" cried the old man. Madeleine raised his head, met Javert's falcon eye still fixed upon him, looked at the motionless peasants, and smiled sadly.
M. Chabouillet, who had, moreover, already been Javert's patron, had the inspector of M. sur M. attached to the police force of Paris. There Javert rendered himself useful in divers and, though the word may seem strange for such services, honorable manners.
The impossibility of approaching too close, his costume of an emigre preceptor, the declaration of Thenardier which made a grandfather of him, and, finally, the belief in his death in prison, added still further to the uncertainty which gathered thick in Javert's mind.
"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.
The policemen trooped in in force, and in a few seconds Javert's order had been executed. The Thenardier female, overwhelmed, stared at her pinioned hands, and at those of her husband, who had dropped to the floor, and exclaimed, weeping: "My daughters!" "They are in the jug," said Javert.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking