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Updated: July 18, 2025
"I am uncomfortable against this post," replied Javert. "You are not tender to have left me to pass the night here. Bind me as you please, but you surely might lay me out on a table like that other man." And with a motion of the head, he indicated the body of M. Mabeuf.
Any one who did not know Javert, and who had chanced to see him at the moment when he penetrated the antechamber of the infirmary, could have divined nothing of what had taken place, and would have thought his air the most ordinary in the world. He was cool, calm, grave, his gray hair was perfectly smooth upon his temples, and he had just mounted the stairs with his habitual deliberation.
Fantine's hand was hanging over the side of the bed. Jean Valjean knelt down before that hand, lifted it gently, and kissed it. Then he rose, and turned to Javert. "Now," said he, "I am at your disposal." Javert deposited Jean Valjean in the city prison.
Jean Valjean we shall henceforth not speak of him otherwise had risen. He said to Fantine in the gentlest and calmest of voices: "Be at ease; it is not for you that he is come." Then he addressed Javert, and said: "I know what you want." Javert replied: "Be quick about it!" There lay in the inflection of voice which accompanied these words something indescribably fierce and frenzied.
However that may be, when M. Madeleine uttered that word, I, as we have just heard, Police Inspector Javert was seen to turn toward the mayor, pale, cold, with blue lips, and a look of despair, his whole body agitated by an imperceptible quiver and an unprecedented occurrence, and say to him, with downcast eyes but a firm voice: "Mr. Mayor, that cannot be." "Why not?" said M. Madeleine.
Javert mentioned his name, showed his card to the sergeant, and seated himself at the table of the post on which a candle was burning. On a table lay a pen, a leaden inkstand and paper, provided in the event of possible reports and the orders of the night patrols.
He had trusty fellows, accomplices' retreats in case of emergencies, in which he would, no doubt, take refuge. All these turns which he was making through the streets seemed to indicate that he was not a simple and honest man. To arrest him too hastily would be "to kill the hen that laid the golden eggs." Where was the inconvenience in waiting? Javert was very sure that he would not escape.
He did not kill Javert, but he is a murderer." "Will you speak," retorted Marius, "of that miserable theft, committed forty years ago, and expiated, as your own newspapers prove, by a whole life of repentance, of self-abnegation and of virtue?" "I say assassination and theft, Monsieur le Baron, and I repeat that I am speaking of actual facts. What I have to reveal to you is absolutely unknown.
The five years of his stay in the convent had cost only five thousand francs. Jean Valjean set the two candlesticks on the chimney-piece, where they glittered to the great admiration of Toussaint. Moreover, Jean Valjean knew that he was delivered from Javert.
When they reached the house, Javert said, "Go up; I will wait here for you!" But before Jean Valjean reached his rooms Javert had gone, and the street was empty. Javert had not been at ease since his life had been spared. He was now in horrible uncertainty. To owe his life to an ex-convict, to accept this debt, and then to repay him by sending him back to the galleys was impossible.
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