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Updated: July 18, 2025
Fantine raised herself in bed with a bound, supporting herself on her stiffened arms and on both hands: she gazed at Jean Valjean, she gazed at Javert, she gazed at the nun, she opened her mouth as though to speak; a rattle proceeded from the depths of her throat, her teeth chattered; she stretched out her arms in her agony, opening her hands convulsively, and fumbling about her like a drowning person; then suddenly fell back on her pillow.
Thenardier took the pistol and aimed at Javert. Javert, who was only three paces from him, stared intently at him and contented himself with saying: "Come now, don't fire. You'll miss fire." Thenardier pulled the trigger. The pistol missed fire. "Didn't I tell you so!" ejaculated Javert. Bigrenaille flung his bludgeon at Javert's feet. "You're the emperor of the fiends! I surrender." "And you?"
"He has got himself killed. Go waken his father." The porter did not stir. "Go along with you!" repeated Javert. And he added: "There will be a funeral here to-morrow."
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.
"Well," said Javert, "where is he?" The prisoner of the ruffians, M. Leblanc, M. Urbain Fabre, the father of Ursule or the Lark, had disappeared. The door was guarded, but the window was not.
Jean Valjean with some difficulty, but without relaxing his hold for a single instant, made Javert, pinioned as he was, scale the little entrenchment in the Mondetour lane. When they had crossed this barrier, they found themselves alone in the lane. No one saw them. Among the heap they could distinguish a livid face, streaming hair, a pierced hand and the half nude breast of a woman.
Fantine's daughter was there. Jean Valjean was going there in search of her. And now this child had been stolen by a stranger! Who could that stranger be? Could it be Jean Valjean? But Jean Valjean was dead. Javert, without saying anything to anybody, took the coach from the Pewter Platter, Cul-de-Sac de la Planchette, and made a trip to Montfermeil.
When Javert had taken his departure, M. Madeleine turned to her and said to her in a deliberate voice, like a serious man who does not wish to weep and who finds some difficulty in speaking: "I have heard you. I knew nothing about what you have mentioned. I believe that it is true, and I feel that it is true. I was even ignorant of the fact that you had left my shop. Why did you not apply to me?
One thing had amazed him, this was that Jean Valjean should have done him a favor, and one thing petrified him, that he, Javert, should have done Jean Valjean a favor. Where did he stand? He sought to comprehend his position, and could no longer find his bearings. What was he to do now? To deliver up Jean Valjean was bad; to leave Jean Valjean at liberty was bad.
We understand this when it is a question of mean, or of intensely selfish ends of Grandet, or Javert. We think it bad morality to say that the end justifies the means, and we know how false to all higher conceptions of the religious life is the type of one who is ready to do evil that good may come.
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