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Updated: July 18, 2025
"Let me go home for one instant. Then you shall do whatever you like with me." Javert remained silent for a few moments, with his chin drawn back into the collar of his great-coat, then he lowered the glass and front: "Driver," said he, "Rue de l'Homme Arme, No. 7." They did not open their lips again during the whole space of their ride. What did Jean Valjean want?
"Inspector Javert, set this woman at liberty." Javert felt that he was on the verge of going mad. He experienced at that moment, blow upon blow and almost simultaneously, the most violent emotions which he had ever undergone in all his life.
At the same time he hired two other apartments in Paris, in order that he might attract less attention than if he were to remain always in the same quarter, and so that he could, at need, take himself off at the slightest disquietude which should assail him, and in short, so that he might not again be caught unprovided as on the night when he had so miraculously escaped from Javert.
"Monsieur," said Jean Valjean, "I should like to say a word to you in private." "Aloud! Say it aloud!" replied Javert; "people are in the habit of talking aloud to me." Jean Valjean went on in a lower tone: "I have a request to make of you " "I tell you to speak loud." "But you alone should hear it " "What difference does that make to me? I shall not listen."
"This is the hall of the dead," said Enjolras. In the interior of this hall, barely lighted by a candle at one end, the mortuary table being behind the post like a horizontal bar, a sort of vast, vague cross resulted from Javert erect and Mabeuf lying prone. The pole of the omnibus, although snapped off by the fusillade, was still sufficiently upright to admit of their fastening the flag to it.
I write to the examining judge; he sends for me; Champmathieu is conducted to me " "Well?" interposed M. Madeleine. Javert replied, his face incorruptible, and as melancholy as ever: "Mr. Mayor, the truth is the truth. I am sorry; but that man is Jean Valjean. I recognized him also." M. Madeleine resumed in, a very low voice: "You are sure?"
In the meanwhile, the agents had caught sight of the drunken man asleep behind the door, and were shaking him: He awoke, stammering: "Is it all over, Jondrette?" "Yes," replied Javert. The six pinioned ruffians were standing, and still preserved their spectral mien; all three besmeared with black, all three masked. "Keep on your masks," said Javert.
It cannot have been that monster of a mayor! Was it you, my good Monsieur Javert, who said that I was to be set free? Oh, see here! I will tell you about it, and you will let me go. That monster of a mayor, that old blackguard of a mayor, is the cause of all. Just imagine, Monsieur Javert, he turned me out! all because of a pack of rascally women, who gossip in the workroom.
"That I must be dismissed." M. Madeleine rose. "Javert, you are a man of honor, and I esteem you. You exaggerate your fault. Moreover, this is an offence which concerns me. Javert, you deserve promotion instead of degradation. I wish you to retain your post."
Up to that day, Javert had borrowed from Napoleon's attitudes, only that which is expressive of resolution, with arms folded across the chest; that which is expressive of uncertainty with the hands behind the back had been unknown to him. Now, a change had taken place; his whole person, slow and sombre, was stamped with anxiety. He plunged into the silent streets.
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