Monsieur Javert stood at the door of the officers' quarters, surveying the imprisoned laborers before him. All were miserable wretches doomed to pay the price of their crime with their blood, sweat, and tears. In the eyes of their supervisor, the rigid Javert, they none of them deserved any better. One large man passed him, a man who'd just been sentenced extra time for an attempted escape. The sight of the laboring criminal reminded Javert of another. A few years ago, one of these worthless devils had escaped his parole. Number 24601 could not be found, and his mockery of justice irked Javert.
That evening, mere moments before the night watchman was to arrive and relieve Javert, two overzealous constables entered the camp, dragging between them a wretched young vagabond. Forced to her knees before Javert, the girl remained motionless, head bowed, as the constables related her story.
"We found her Sir, in a man's barn outside town. She was setting down a milking stool, Sir, surely to rob the owner of the milk from his own cow," announced the older of the two proudly.
"And you're sure of the guilt? You witnessed this crime?"
"Got there just in time to save that man's property, Sir," said the younger, taller one.
Purely out of duty and taking no true interest, Javert addressed the heap of rags at his feet, "Do you have anything to say in your defense? Or a confession perhaps?"
The girl raised her head. The face was young, no more than perhaps eighteen. The hair ratted, but showing evidence of natural curl. The expression fearful, but perhaps betraying a glimmer of naïve hope. The eyes were hazel, not particularly large or strikingly colored, but markedly bright, almost as if illuminated by a separate soul than resided in the body. "I can't claim innocence, these men were honest," her voice was alto, possibly soothing if not for the strained tone, "and I'm not going to pretend I was acting for another. I have no family. The fact is I just got into town and I'm starving and the cow was past due for a milking. I've lived by my wits since infancy, Sir, and managed not to disrespect the laws. I ask for mercy this one time, though I don't deserve it, and I'll never make the same mistake again."
"Have you ever considered the worth of a criminal's promise?" Javert asked the men conversationally, "Or perhaps do you, like me, know that such a thing has no worth to consider?"
At this jibe, the bright eyes grew narrow, and the wretch stood. She was short, utterly diminutive, and she craned her neck to look at the face of imposing M. Javert. "My word is my law, Sir. I give you my word and I'll obey and guard it just as you officers must guard the law. You have no reason not to trust me; the crime I didn't commit was not breach of any oath of mine." For the merest moment, the prisoner thought she saw Javert's eyes flicker, his mouth twitch. And then she was sure of it, his next words betraying some softening.
"This woman has to be convicted. Someone of more rank than a constable must determine her guilt." The bright eyes grew wider and a few grateful tears gathered. But then, with a narrowing of his own eyes and a tightening of his jaw, Javert continued, "I will escort her myself to the area police headquarters."
As if on cue, the night guard stepped in to take his shift. Javert acknowledged this man with a curt nod. He then turned the girl roughly around, gripped the back of her neck and an elbow, and marched from the building.
The pace was too quick for the prisoner and she stumbled often. Her captor neither spoke nor slackened his pace as they wound through the streets to the outskirts of the town. New to the town and confused though she was, the accused doubted the police station would be so far from the center of the city.
Indeed, the steps Javert mounted were not those out front of an official building, but a small, low, plain house. He reached around her to open the door and unceremoniously threw her inside. She landed hard on the floor and bit back a cry of pain. The room was dark. Javert stepped inside after her, slammed the door, and began lighting lamps.
"Sir? Monsieur Guard? What's going on?" the girl's fear had escalated and confused anger bubbled to the surface.
Javert had his back to her; he finished with the lamp at the far end of the room before turning. His expression was indescribable, and his words even more enigmatic, "Don't you remember me at all?"
The prisoner shrank away from him, realizing he must be deranged. "No, Sir. You're mistaken. I've never seen you before."
His jaw muscles betrayed clenching teeth. Slowly, deliberately, he asked, "What are you doing so far from home, Aurelie? As I recall, you're from a long way east of here."
Now confusion took precedence over fear, with curiosity as a companion. "How do you know my name? Or where I came from?" Her eyebrows drew together accusingly.
In one motion, Javert crossed the room and knelt before her. Aurelie automatically recoiled. His eyes were fierce, focused on some goal with such an intensity Aurelie felt his face may catch fire. "You must remember!" he hissed. "You used to hide in an alley behind the orphan home where I grew up."
Like a dream, another face imposed itself over the guard's. It was the face of a boy with he same dark hair, the same clear blue eyes as the man who'd been so cruel. She could see also, the same burning intensity, bordering on anger, in each of the faces staring at her. Aurelie stopped breathing. Her reaction did not go unnoticed.
"What do you remember?" Javert demanded.
Aurelie's eyes glazed over and she spoke shakily, "A boy…on the other side of the fence. Some of the children threw stones at me. Thought it was funny. He chased them away." Her eyes came back into focus, "You chased them away every time."
Javert nodded. "Do you recall what I told you?"
Aurelie, still in shock over this new revelation, laughed nervously, "I remember you never stopped talking. You would send the others off and settle yourself, talking to me through the fence. I remember I was glad you had so much to tell me, because I never had anything to say."
Javert's expression did not change. "But I made you a promise, and repeated it often."
Aurelie's eyebrows drew together in concentration. She closed her eyes to escape the pressure of his gaze. A fuzzy recollection swam toward the surface of her mind. She opened her eyes. Javert saw an accusation there. Slowly, she reached back to rub her neck. There was a red mark where his hand had grasped her. "I remember," She said, "You said you wouldn't hurt me. Told me that every time you came." She blinked, and the expression changed to one of resignation, "If you are informing me that your promise is no longer in force, save your breath. I wasn't planning to hold you to it."
Javert sighed. "That's not what I promised you. I swore to take it upon myself to protect you: to prevent any harm from coming to you. I wanted to remind you of that by way explanation for my actions this evening. I had to handle the matter as I did, or you would have been subjected to either the chain gang or the guillotine, and I would be a liar." He touched the red mark on her neck. "I doubt you will ever know how much it pains me to see what I did. But you must know that it was the lesser of the two breaches."
His fingertips were cool against the raw skin, but he retracted them immediately after he finished speaking. Aurelie looked at him again, searching for more evidence of the boy she remembered.
"You couldn't be him," she finally concluded. "The boy in the orphan home was passionate about justice. About the law. Surely it is a transgression of some sort to take a prisoner into your home. The boy I knew would never break a law."
Javert looked down, then back at Aurelie's bright eyes. "Evidently you do not remember the last thing I told you before I left the orphanage." Aurelie pondered a moment, then shook her head. Javert leaned forward unwittingly, "I said you were the only one for whom I'd ever break a law." Even as he spoke the words, a voice from the past said them in unison. Aurelie remembered her emotions that day. How much such a profession had meant to her! This one person in all the world who cared if she lived or died, and he would even promise to throw away his most treasured precept for her. It had nearly knocked her off her feet then and it had the same effect now. But Javert wasn't finished, "Also, you did not actually commit the crime. And, according to the law, one cannot be charged based on intent alone. The man upon whose property you were caught trespassing did not press charges. So that offense goes unwritten."
Aurelie's eyes were misting over. She blinked the moisture away. "I missed you," she admitted. "Even though I knew you were gone, I would come to the alley every day, out of shear hope. That's when I swore to myself never to break my oath. I wanted to be honest, like you." Javert did not smile, but it looked as though he were about to. Aurelie did smile, "I always hoped I'd see you again." And then she looked at the ground. Embarrassed at her openness.
Javert took Aurelie's hands in his own. His next words stopped her lungs, heart, and mind. "Aurelie, marry me." A stunned moment convinced her she hadn't imagined the words. She tried to take her hands back, but her fingers were caught fast and he would not release them.
"No!" She said forcefully. "I barely know you. You came back into my world after an absence of years. This is too sudden! I…"
"Aurelie!" Javert stopped her. "What better choice is there? You can trust me. I have protected you before, I can do so now. You come to this place with no money, no family, no future. I can give you all of those things. You are a wanted woman. Who would suspect the wife of a policeman? You would be safe in every sense of the word." The facts were taking their effect on Aurelie. She could no longer meet his eyes, trying not to consider the truth in his discourse. Quieter, he continued, "I love you. I know it surely."
She did look at him now. And tears filled her eyes. "But I do not love you, Sir. To this day I do not even know your name!"
"I am Javert."
"Monsieur Javert, I do not return your love. Perhaps someday I might but…"
"And until you do, I will not ask you to express affection you don't feel. I would not have you fear me." Aurelie studied his face. She had been lied to many times in her life, but never by this man, never by the boy he used to be, and his expression was no less genuine than she always remembered. The wretch dropped her eyes and wouldn't answer. Javert took her chin in his fingertips and gently forced her to meet his gaze. "If for no other reason," he concluded, "do this because you value honesty and adherence. Help a filthy, scum-blood boy to keep his oath. I swore to protect you; don't make me a liar."
Tears of shame, fear, frustration and disbelief spilled over Aurelie's eyelashes and coursed down her dirty cheeks, splashing onto Javert's hand. So many emotions roiled in the girl's heart she thought she must soon burst. Why had she even thought of that cow? Why hadn't she just starved to death instead? How could she join her life to this man's without even truly knowing him? How could she trust him after mere minutes of re-introduction? How could she not? Would she survive without him? If she didn't marry him, would he have her arrested? Could there possibly be a better life than to be the wife of a man who was so just, so fair? Was she crazy not to leap at his offer? Did she know what she was doing?
She didn't know the answer to any of her own questions, so she answered Javert's, "Yes Monsieur Javert. I will marry you."
In eyes that had for years been stone, there was a softening. Rather than a dry, harsh glint, Javert's eyes glittered like a human's once more, moist and tender. His hand moved from her chin to cradle her cheek, and he leaned forward slowly, giving her every chance to reject. When he met no resistance, he pressed his lips to her brow, lingering there a few seconds. Perhaps due to curiosity, or shock, or a determination to give love every chance, Aurelie allowed this gesture. But her face and neck burned scarlet at his touch. She had been alone a long time, and had been that way partly to avoid the unsavory attentions forced upon some of the women she'd once called friends. They were all now either dead or broken. Seeing what she had, how could she trust this man to be different? Why did her blush turn red but her heart stay steady? Why did she feel so safe?
Before dawn the next morning, Aurelie was Mrs. Gaudier Javert. He kept his word and forced nothing on her. His honesty gave her hope. His presence inspired both fear and security. But already she could sense a seedling of love settling in her lonely heart.
"Estelle, hurry along won't you?" Aurelie called to her dawdling daughter. Estelle, young and easily distracted, was wandering along behind her mother, staring toward the River Seine.
"But Maman, why are all those people standing over there? Can't we go see?" Aurelie turned. There was indeed a crowd on the riverbank. As she paused to watch, a woman pushed her way through the onlookers and screamed at whatever she saw, hidden from the view of Madam Javert and Estelle. A man, dressed in rags and soot, forced his way out of the crowd, laughing at whatever he'd seen. Aurelie's curiosity was piqued. Forgetting her errand, she went to the crowd. Estelle followed, skipping.
"Pardon me," she said, edging past someone. The man moved aside, looked at her, and began to shout.
"Make way!" He called, glancing once more at her face, "Make way for Madam Javert!" Suddenly all around her murmurs ran rampant. The name "Javert" seemed to be on everybody's tongue. Aurelie's chest was seized by some indefinable fear. Without truly understanding her urgency, she pushed forward rudely, forcing her way to the front.
A shriek of agony escaped her when she saw the subject of attention. Inspector Gaudier Javert, soaked through and obviously pulled from the river, lay dead at her feet. Her husband, the great love of her life, the father of her young child, was drowned. Helplessly she sank to her knees. Estelle had by now made it through the mob as well. But she didn't understand. She stood behind her mother and asked questions. Questions Aurelie could neither hear nor grasp. With her skirt she gently dried the water on her husband's face. It was futile, her tears continued to thwart the effort. Repositioning herself, she took Javert's head in her hands and lay it in her lap, stroking his brow. She didn't care that his hair was wetting her dress. She couldn't comprehend the voices around her, some pitying, others scornful. She saw only the face and figure of this man. This man, once a giant among men, was now reduced to a public spectacle. This stern man, great fear of all who dared break the law, now lay helpless, and she helpless to save him. To save him as he had saved her.
She cradled him and cried. The people watched. Estelle cried; she had begun to understand. All Aurelie could do was hold him and shield him as he had held and shielded her. Her one defender, the one man who'd ever protected her, now dead. Now taken from her.
"Who did this?" she whispered. The chatter around quieted, but they hadn't heard. She repeated her question, louder, still hunched over the inspector's corpse.
"No one Madam. He threw himself into the river. This boy saw it. It was suicide." They pushed a boy forward, a street urchin. Aurelie looked up at him. Softly, like a mother crooning, she interrogated him.
"Did you see?" He nodded. "And he threw himself over the bridge?" Again, the boy nodded. "Did he say anything?"
"He was talking to himself a while before. Said lots of things."
"Can you remember any of it?"
"He was only just muttering things. I was hiding from him," here the boy looked up, worried he'd given himself away. Completely uninterested in the boy's petty crimes, Aurelie asked him to continue. "He did mention someone. Valjean he said. From what I understand, Valjean did something nice. Let him go, I think, when he could have killed him. This person must be a criminal. Anyway, the Inspector said something about Valjean and the law and justice and then just went off the bridge. He was very upset."
Aurelie was staring out over the Seine. Now she looked back at the boy. He was frightened to see the change in her face. She wasn't like a mother anymore. "Thank you," she said, in a voice like stone.
"There, you see?" came a voice from the crowd, "Obvious suicide. Lucky we got him out at all really."
"Not suicide," Aurelie spat, "Murder."
"How can it be murder?" A woman asked. "You heard the story."
"Just the cunning of a convict, Madam. This Valjean has been pursued by the law for years. He knew my husband was his most dangerous enemy. He has known Monsieur Javert a long time; he knew the connection between the Inspector and the law. He didn't want a charge of murder added to his crimes, but he knew he would never escape with the great Inspector Javert after him. He orchestrated the perfect situation. He held my husband's life in his hands and gave it back. Thereby holding him in debt. My Javert was the law embodied, he could not live defiled and allow the very law, justice itself, to remain beholden to a criminal. He had no choice. My husband, as always, did the only honorable, thing. Valjean may as well have taken a knife to his throat."
The people were silent. Aurelie continued, whispering to the dead man and once again stroking Javert's cold brow. "Gaudier, you always protected me. You defended my honor. You saved me as a child, and again as a woman. You gave me everything. You gave me love when I didn't deserve it; perhaps the only undeserved thing you ever gave anyone. You did not deserve to have your life, your dignity stolen from you in such a way. This is the only way I can thank you. In gratitude for my life, for Estelle, for your love, I promise you justice. Acting in your name, I will finally give Jean Valjean what he deserves and restore your dignity. Prisoner 24601 will be yours. I swear it. You know me, Gaudier; you know that my word is my law. And with the same vigor that you upheld the law of the land will I bind myself to this oath."
The woman took off her cloak and jacket, held her husband's head once more in her hand and moved, placing the clothing like a pillow for the deceased. In her new position, seated and facing the man, she sat perfectly still, gazing at him. After several minutes of undisturbed stillness she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his brow, remembering that fateful night when he had first kissed her. How much confusion she'd felt that night! And now, how much purpose consumed her being. She tried to whisper a farewell, but could only mouth the words. Her ability to speak was gone.
Estelle was still crying. Aurelie looked at her daughter, saw her innocent pain. The mother stood and gathered her grieving girl in her arms. Though Estelle was too big now to be carried, Aurelie was unwilling to let go. Estelle buried her little face in her mother's shoulder and hid from the sight of her father. To the little girl, her father was the great hero. He was austere and strict, but his arms were strong and safe. He gave Maman kisses that made her smile. As far as the child was concerned, he made the sun rise every day, and was the reason the stars in the night twinkled so beautifully. Her grief was deep, her tears honest.
Aurelie recognized to members of the police force among the onlookers. She straightened as much as she could with her burden. "Please," she asked, "bring him with us to the coroner. His funeral must be immediate. Send someone to inform your superiors of his passing."