They'd agreed to wed in August: there would be no lavish wedding, no banquets or pompous ceremonies: a drop in the Registrar's office and then a blessing in a church. It would have felt perverse when people were hungry and starving in the streets. Truthfully Javert had enough on his mind as it were: there had been some minor scuffles between the supporters of the current regime, the Legitimists and the republicans. Some of these scuffles were handled by the palace militia or gendarmes, but Javert knew there were worse times ahead. High prices of food had caused major fights between buyers and vendors, and the patrols were already spread thin. Many of his men had fallen ill with cholera, and many more had sick or starving relatives.
In March Prime Minister Perier had visited some cholera patients with his Royal Highness Ferdinand Philippe, Duke of Orléans: he'd fallen ill of the cursed disease, which some said was caused by Miasmas, and died in April. Javert had feared for trouble during the state funeral, but the fears were unfounded.
When General Lamarque, a hero of the Napoleonic wars and a much-loved reformer, fell ill of cholera, Javert and his superiors were quite certain there would be trouble if he were to die. When Lamarque's health continued to decline, Javert was summoned to see Prefect of Police, Gisquet. Javert knew at once he'd have a special assignment.
"If the people riot during or after the funeral, they'll barricade themselves to various locations," Gisquet said. "We're gathering our bravest, most experienced and intelligent men and sending you in as our agents. You and others like you are to infiltrate the barricades. You are to find out who they are, how they're armed, how much ammunition they have, and most importantly, identify the leaders so they can be sentenced appropriately."
'Agents,' he'd said, and Javert knew he meant 'spies'. It would be an extremely dangerous task, for a captured spy would be killed without mercy: they'd ask for men who were brave... and unmarried, with no children or wives depending on them. He, while engaged to be married, had no wife or children yet, and no elderly parents to support either. But Javert was no coward, and he had a duty to serve the law. Cosette would grieve him, but she was young, and she had her father.
"Yes, sir."
"You are to don a civilian attire: dress up as a worker to fit in. I'll write evidence of assignment in order for you to pass through our lines when your mission is complete, or if your position gets compromised."
"Understood."
"Good man."
That evening he spoke of the matter to Cosette. He'd have liked to delay the news, but they couldn't know if or when General Lamarque would possibly die: he might just recover, there was a distinct possibility the riots would break out when the news of the general's death would spread, although they believed it was much more likely the republicans would use the funeral to incite trouble. Cosette was deeply disturbed, and tears glistened in her eyes: she burrowed into his chest, pressing her ear on him to hear his heartbeat and shivered.
"Do not worry, sweet Cosette," he told her, "I've much experience, and I will be careful. I will come back to you."
"Can't they send someone else?"
"There are worse choices than me. Most of the others have people depending on them. They have elderly parents to support, children, wives... If the worst comes to pass, you still have your father."
"But I wouldn't have you."
"You're very young. You'd find some young man," he said, though the words tasted like bile in his mouth.
"It wouldn't be the same. I don't want a young man. Just you."
"My sweet Cosette. I'll be careful, just for you," he said, kissing her forehead.
That night he went home and wrote up a will, leaving everything to Mademoiselle Euphrasie Fauchelevent, also known by the name of Cosette, daughter of one Ultime Fauchelevent and betrothed of Police Inspector Javert. That night he went to bed and feared he might not live to experience his wedding night and the chance to bury himself deep inside his lovely, warm bride.
News of General Jean Lamarque's death came on the 1st of July. Father had heard it when he'd been out to buy bread: he looked very serious and concerned. Inspector Javert had sworn Cosette to secrecy of his mission to spy on the rebels if a rebellion began: he'd also spoken with father privately, and both men had looked very serious and grim when they'd returned from father's rooms in the porter's lodge.
Cosette was almost beside herself with worry. They hadn't gone for a walk for some time now, and Cosette walked about in the garden daily: now she was unable to concentrate on anything. She prayed several times for Javert's safe return and spent hours in the garden, looking into the street and listening for any sounds of a fight, seeing if the passers-by were reacting ominously.
The lancers were patrolling in the streets, and patrols were passing by their gate frequently on their way. Cosette also saw two patrols of gendarmes and several police patrols: the policemen greeted her politely, for they knew she was betrothed to Inspector Javert. She asked them politely through the gate if they'd heard anything: there had been rumours of a revolt in planning, of people arming themselves with whatever they could and preparing for a revolt, but so far as they knew, nothing yet had happened.
That evening, when Inspector Javert rode to greet her, she practically flew to his arms, barely able to wait until he'd dismounted off his steed, and kissed him desperately, such was her relief of seeing her future husband again. He was tired and arrived later than usual, but took her gently to his arms and held her, allowing her to draw comfort. Despite working late, he looked marvellous in his fine uniform, in his shining boots and leather gloves, and his body was warm and wonderful. They left the horse to feed on the grass and slowly walked inside.
"I don't think there will be anything major until the funeral," Javert said quietly after Toussaint had served them the meal and left Cosette, her father and Javert to dine. "It'll be on the fifth. A military procession. You must not attend it. Stay home, do not walk into the streets."
"Can you send us a word when it begins?"
He shook his head. "Probably not. Every man will be needed there. I will do what I can, Cosette, but I cannot make such promises. I do promise I'll come back to you when it's all over."
Javert cursed internally, though he kept his countenance impassive: his cover had been blown before he could leave. A blasted gamin had recognised him and so here he was, trussed up and tied and awaiting for his death at the barricade of Rue de la Chanvrerie.
He'd joined a crowd near the Rue des Billettes, dressed like a civilian, aware that though an officer was keeping a discreet eye on him from a distance, they wouldn't be able to help him once he entered a barricade: he'd be alone. He'd helped build a barricade at Rue de la Chanvreri, next to a public-house called Corinthe. He'd then entered the public-house and sat down to observe, carrying a rifle, wanting to remember as many faces and names as possible, to see who was in charge, ready to testify if need be, if any of these fools were to escape when the barricade would inevitably fall. He was to see who supplied weapons, how many pistols and rifles they had, and perhaps use the opportunity to sabotage their supply of gunpowder: if they could not return fire, more of them could be caught alive and brought to justice. A full-blown fight would cost lives of soldiers and policemen, and a convict would serve the state in accordance to law.
If only that blasted gamin hadn't recognised him. One of their leaders had approached him, and from the expression on his face Javert immediately realised that the man knew: he did not lie, for Javert would never sink so low as to lie in a feeble attempt to save his hide, and it hadn't taken five men long to throw him down and search his pockets. They'd found his identity card and his written orders from the Prefect of Police.
Five men it took to throw down Inspector Javert, he thought with what little satisfaction he could muster, although his death sentence was delivered by one little boy with a few revealing words. He'd asked them to kill him straight away, but they'd left him to wait, aware that waiting for death was worse than dying for a man like him.
And so he awaited and thought of Cosette, sweet little Cosette. He'd ridden to her home every day, though he'd been so very tired and concerned, and she'd always been waiting for him in the garden of Rue Plumet, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of flowers, then shivering in his arms as he buried his nose into her hair and whispered endearments that very few people would believe coming from the ugly, old and harsh Inspector Javert.
Now, they'd have no wedding, no wedding night would come for them, and he'd die here, while Cosette would mourn and eventually marry another man. They'd meet again one day in heaven, but she'd been another man's wife then, and would he be allowed to love her in any way, in the kingdom of God? Javert was a true Catholic and feared it might not be moral.
The battle was raging outside, and Javert observed the young men — mere boys, really — carry in the corpse of a fallen, dead man. One of the leaders, addressed as Enjolras, told Javert, "It will be your turn presently!"
Javert did not flinch. Death was his destiny, and he'd give them no satisfaction.
Time rolled on: there were sounds of severe fighting outside: screams, howls of pain and anger, crashes, pistols and rifles firing, and shouts indicating that a bullet had found a target. Javert waited and listened.
After a while, as the fighting died down momentarily, he heard them suggest they might trade him for their friend who'd been captured, but soon shouts and then a firing shot of a pistol silenced them. They knew their captured friend had been executed, and the leader, Enjolras, turned to him and told him: "Your friends have just shot you."
And he could do nothing but wait.
Jean Valjean observed his beloved little Cosette as she paced nervously. The streets around Rue Plumet were always quiet, but now the silence from all the other streets was overwhelming. No sounds of carriages or steeds could be heard from any distance: no human voices could be heard, although people would normally have been going about their business. The lancers had mostly left their garrison, the patrols of gendarmes, policemen, lancers and dragoons were large and moved at a brisk pace towards their intended targets. Jean had heard gunshots from a distance: Cosette heard it too, and every time she jumped a little and her eyes grew wider: she knew that any one of those bullets may have been one aimed for Javert.
He'd found her praying thrice today: he hadn't interrupted her prayers, of course, but felt sick to his heart over how much worry Javert had caused his little girl. Little Cosette, it wasn't such a long time ago when she had still been playing with her doll, when she'd curled up in his lap to sleep: just a bundle of bones, skin, hunger and lack of affection. How he'd seem her smile and then laugh the very first time, how she'd stopped being afraid of Madame Thénardier: and how he'd been forced to lie to her to keep her quiet, threaten that Madame Thénardier was coming for her when Javert himself had chased them through the streets until they'd landed in the convent of Petit-Picpus, with Benedictines of the Perpetual Adoration. His stubborn and selfish mind kept telling him that Javert would have thrust the little girl into the streets to fend for herself and taken Jean Valjean back to prison without hesitation; how, now, did that very man claim the right to love Cosette enough to propose marriage to her? He'd been the one to hurt her mother, Fantine, when she lay on her death-bed, telling her not to expect her daughter. Cruel, merciless, cold had been Javert: why was this man now staring at his Cosette with love?
But his conscience, which seemed to speak with the voice of the late Bishop of Digne, Monseigneur Bienvenu himself, told him to look at how Javert looked at Cosette, and how Cosette looked at Javert: and that look was nothing if not adoration and love. Truly, Javert seemed a better man because of Cosette. If a man could love a woman raised by a convict, the daughter of a prostitute, and had given up his conviction to deliver his sworn enemy Valjean to the back to the galleys where he'd toiled and where he'd thought he'd die... if a man could change so much, who was Jean Valjean to deny that love?
Javert was much older than Cosette, that Jean himself had to admit, but he himself was over a decade older than Javert, and such age differences were hardly unheard of.
The day wore on, and Cosette lingered in front of a window. She barely ate, her eyes straying to the closest window while they sat, and every sound Toussaint made had her head jerk up before she realised that nobody was coming. The time when Javert usually arrived came and went, but the man did not arrive, and Cosette remained in the garden where she'd gone half an hour before the time Javert usually arrived.
Jean Valjean joined his daughter there, sat next to her on the stone bench and helped her wait. Once they heard the sound of hooves on the cobblestones, but the sound went by and nobody arrived. Jean realised Cosette was praying, and he sent his prayers to join hers.
It was getting dark when they heard the sounds of several approaching horses, and three policemen in uniforms approached. Cosette let out a delighted and relieved sob, but it turned into a horrified whimper when she saw their uniforms and horses and realised that none of them was Javert. The men rode to their gate and dismounted while Cosette approached them: Jean supported her by the arm.
"Monsieur Fauchelevent?" inquired one of them, the oldest of the three. When Jean nodded in acquiescence and introduced himself as M. Ultime Fauchelevent, he introduced himself: "I am Officer Lefavre, and these are Officers Brunelle and Marine. We bring news of Inspector Javert."
"Is he all right? Is he alive?" Cosette whispered desperately.
"Cosette," Jean chided her gently, "we shall invite the officers inside. They look weary and are undoubtedly hungry and tired." The young men definitely looked like they hadn't rested for quite some time, and at the mention of hunger Jean was certain he heard a stomach growl: Officer Marine looked slightly sheepish, but they all looked very grave, and Jean did not wish her daughter to receive bad news there, in the garden: he had already pulled the key to the gate from his pocket and opened the massive lock, opening the gate for the men and their horses. The gate creaked with rust, for Inspector Javert usually used the gate at Rue de Babylone, and the one of the horses showed signs of nerves: the men were expert horsemen and the steeds were soon led into the garden and tied down so they could eat the lush grass. Jean promised to ask Toussaint to deliver them water, and led the men inside the house and into the dining room. Cosette rushed to ask Toussaint to deliver the officers some food, and the men sat down at his request.
"We've all patrolled here before by Inspector Javert's command," Lefavre explained, "and we've seen Mademoiselle Fauchelevent before. I was one of the officers in the raid where you were almost robbed, though I doubt you remember me," he said slightly proudly. "We all knew Inspector Javert is engaged to Mademoiselle Fauchelevent and that he visits her every night," he continued, "and when it turned out that... we asked for a permission to come and tell her of the situation."
Jean saw Cosette clutch the table with both of her hands. Toussaint arrived with food and served them all, although he and Cosette had already eaten: Jean took a few bites out of politeness, which allowed the hungry young men to eat and drink properly.
"Inspector Javert was sent behind the enemy lines. I was to personally observe him from a distance, to see that he could safely integrate himself with the rebels. I saw him go with them to Rue de la Chanvrerie, though I could no longer go safely closer. There's a barricade there now, and a pack of rebels, but Inspector Javert has not come out."
Cosette let out a horrified sob, her fingers turning white from clutching the table so hard, and the expressions on the faces of the young policemen showed pity. "He was supposed to come out in less than three hours, but when he did not arrive to deliver the information..." Lefavre looked saddened, although Jean was quite certain he'd have gladly traded places with Javert as Cosette's love.
"We asked our superior for a permission to come and tell you. We'd have come sooner, but we wanted to be certain he wasn't simply detained by something, and finally it was so late..." the young man rambled now, looking very uncomfortable. "He's an excellent Inspector, Javert is. He's always watched after us, made sure we're not too tired to work, made sure we rest and eat. And we're sure he'd have wanted us to let you know, mademoiselle..."
"Thank you," Jean interrupted the boy when he saw Cosette's shoulders shake in suppressed tears. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" Gently he helped Cosette up from her seat and guided her to her bedroom, where she collapsed completely, sobbing helplessly. Jean held her for a while, until Toussaint arrived: Jean asked the servant to keep the girl company and went to attend on the three young policemen.
"My daughter is distraught, as you probably saw, gentlemen," he told the men, "and she needs rest. Would it be possible for someone to come tell us if something new comes up?"
"Of course, M. Fauchelevent," Lefavre replied. The three men had risen from their seats politely, even though they were obviously still very tired. "We thank you for your hospitality. It is much appreciated, but I'm afraid we've already stayed longer than we should have. Our superior expects us to join them immediately, and we must depart."
"Of course. I wish you good luck for the rest of the battle, and thank you for protecting the city," Jean said smoothly. "Which barricade did you say Inspector Javert went into?"
"Rue de la Chanvrerie, monsieur. It's in the direction of Saint-Merry."
"Ah, indeed. Well, thank you again for taking the time, and please send our gratitude for your consideration to your superiors as well."
"We will," Lefavre promised and bowed: the two other men followed his example, and Jean led them outside to their horses and opened the gate for them. The men wished him good evening and once again asked him to belay their support for Mademoiselle Fauchelevent: he promised to do so, and the three young policemen took out their pistols, ready for an ambush if need be, and rode away.
Jean closed the gate and went back inside. He took a small bottle of Laudanum for a cupboard and poured a small dose of cognac, then took it to Cosette, who was still on her bed, her arms wound tightly around her body.
"Drink this," he said, and helped her up. She clutched him and wet his shirt with her tears, and after a while Jean managed to get her to drink the cognac, sip by sip. She cringed at the taste but drank obediently, and soon her tears began to subside and her eyes drifted close, her harsh and ragged breathing became even, and she dozed off. Jean's thoughts raced in his head, his heart aching from the pain his daughter was going through.
Toussaint was still standing by the door, wringing her hands and looking very concerned. The good-hearted older woman had a few tears of compassion on her cheeks. Jean left Cosette to sleep and left the room, gesturing Toussaint to follow him.
"I will be leaving the house for a while, Toussaint. I've given her Laudanum, and it should keep her asleep for a while now. I'll make another glass that you can give her if she wakes up while I'm gone and needs it. I shall... I shall write a letter for her, Toussaint, and you must give it to her if I am not back by noon tomorrow. No sooner, no later, do you understand?"
"Yes, monsieur, but surely you won't go out there, the revolt..." Toussaint stuttered.
"I will be safe, Toussaint, and a man does what a man must when God gives him an order in his heart," Jean said. "I shall be very careful. Stay with her, loyal Toussaint, and watch over her. I'll leave the letter on my desk."
Jean went quickly to his room and took out his National Guardsman's uniform. Sounds of gunfire broke the air from a distance, and Jean hurried. He penned a quick letter, into which he detailed the instructions on how to find the money he'd buried in the forest at Montfermeil. He also gave instructions on how to care for the property, and penned his will, making sure everything would remain with Cosette. He put on his familiar uniform. Then, out of the closet, he took out his gun and a cartridge-box filled with cartridges, loaded the gun and put the cartridge-box into his pocket.
He then departed towards Saint-Merry.
Javert remained bound to the post in the tap-room of the Corinthe. The corpse of an old man lay close by, covered by a black cloth, and their leader, Enjolras, looked at Javert grimly and said, "This is the hall of the dead."
Javert's feet ached, for he would not stoop so low as to crouch down on the floor in a humiliating posture: the ropes were tight, he was hungry and, more than anything, thirsty. He knew he'd die sooner or later, but his body craved wine, or water if no wine was available. The insurgents had drank wine but they had no food for themselves, let alone for a doomed spy: and none of them had given him anything to drink. Why waste anything on a corpse that still happened to breathe?
He heard them outside: another barricade still stood close by, but the army was bearing down on it. The one called Enjolras shouted to the group:
"The whole army of Paris is to strike. A third of the army is bearing down upon the barricades in which you now are. There is the National Guard in addition. I have picked out the shakos of the fifth of the line, and the standard-bearers of the sixth legion. In one hour you will be attacked. As for the populace, it was seething yesterday, today it is not stirring. There is nothing to expect; nothing to hope for. Neither from a faubourg nor from a regiment. You are abandoned."
Another voice shouted in response: "So be it. Let us raise the barricade to a height of twenty feet, and let us all remain in it. Citizens, let us offer the protests of corpses. Let us show that, if the people abandon the republicans, the republicans do not abandon the people."
The leaders began to argue that some of the men should flee, disguised in the uniforms of the fallen National Guardsmen, and Javert tried to keep his ears peeled to identify the men who'd escape: it was of no use, of course, because he'd be killed sooner than he could give this information to his superiors, but this was a life-long habit. The idiots began to squabble over who'd be forced to leave, for none of them wanted to leave the others behind, and all wanted to remain behind and die together. New shouts indicated that a fifth uniform had been brought, and Javert's head jolted upwards when he recognised the voice: Jean Valjean. Cosette's father had entered the barricade, apparently dressed in the National Guard uniform, and surrendered it to them.
Was Valjean here to make sure he'd be killed? Most likely. Javert was a constant threat to the old convict: he'd chased Valjean for years, then caught up with him and taken his beloved daughter for his bride, threatening him if he'd tried to take her away. Valjean had no choice but to comply, knowing that if he'd flee, Javert would still take Cosette for his own and throw him back into galleys. He'd be able to disgrace Valjean in the eyes of his daughter, and when they'd be wed, he'd be able to prevent Valjean from ever seeing Cosette again. Not that he'd intended to do so: but Valjean was a thief and an escaped convict, and a criminal never stopped being one.
Javert had closed his eyes, unwilling to shed tears, and trying to assuage the pain on his legs and back and his raging thirst. He heard a few new people enter, but refused to open his eyes, until he heard the man called Enjolars ask of him, "Do you want anything?"
Opening his eyes, Javert replied: "When are you going to kill me?"
"Wait. We need all our cartridges just at present."
"Then give me a drink," said Javert, his throat feeling rough, and he was certain his voice sounded raspy. Enjolras offered him a glass of water and helped him drink it, for his hands were tied behind his back. It soothed his parched throat.
"Is that all?" inquired Enjolras.
"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," he said, nodding his head towards the dead man lying on a table.
"Untie him and lay him on the other table, but tie him securely," Enjolras commanded, and four insurgents unbound Javert from the post, while a fifth held a bayonet against his chest. They left his arms tied behind his back, tied his feet with a whip-cord which allowed him to take steps of about fifteen inches. He was allowed to walk to the table at the end of the room, and though his muscles ached, the chance to take steps felt good. They laid him down on the table, none too gently, though he'd expected nothing better, and tied him down from several places, in a way Javert knew well from prisons.
Javert turned his head when a he saw a shadow, and saw Jean Valjean stand on the threshold, looking at him. Javert sighed, closed his eyes and said nothing at all.
He was feeling more comfortable now, for the water had assuaged some of his worst hunger and quenched his thirst, and the cramps on his legs were easing up. He paid no further attention to anything until hours later, at dawn, when most of the men still fit for battle rushed outside and he heard them speak of cannons: soon, the shooting began in earnest, with the insurgents firing on the army. He kept his thoughts on Cosette, deciding to spend his last hours on Earth thinking about her. He remembered how lovely she'd looked when he first saw her, remembered his every encounter with her in loving detail. Then he spent more time remembering how she felt against his body, how warm she'd been, what her lips tasted like, and her sweet scent.
He heard a cannon fire: his eyes flew open and he started at the surprising, unexpected sound of it, but closed his eyes again. They'd die, these foolish men, and they'd deserve it: they were betraying the law and order of things. Refusing to submit when the law demanded it, refusing to stand down and surrender when the authorities commanded it, and so they must pay for it. And because of them, Javert would not have his wedding night with his lovely Cosette, the only woman he'd ever loved.
Damn them. Damn them all.
The bells of Saint-Merry were ringing once again, and the voices exclaimed that other barricades were being raised all over Paris. In the middle of this, Jean Valjean entered the building again.
"I have been given the permission to kill the spy," he told evenly to the men in the room. "For saving the barricade."
"What did you do?" one asked.
"Shot a mattress down and then carried it to stop the cannon-fire," Valjean replied. "I was permitted, as my reward, to blow that man's brains out. I am to take him to the little barricade of the Mondétour lane, so his corpse won't lie with ours."
"Go on then. He's tied down, he won't get away. You have a pistol?"
"I do," replied Valjean, and cocked it.
Javert began to laugh his noiseless laughter, and gazing intently at the insurgents, he told them: "You are in no better case than I am."
Valjean approached him and loosened the ropes that tied him to the table and signalled him to rise. Javert smiled at him to show his superiority to the man who had to slay the betrothed of his daughter to keep them away from each other, this lowly convict about to become a murderer willingly. Valjean pulled him by the ropes like a mule, and Javert could only follow, for his feet were still tied together, his hands tied behind his back, and a martingale around his neck. From this Valjean led Javert through the barricade. The insurgents were concentrating on the sounds of the rebellions incited all over Paris, but many of them laughed at him, wishing him a merry way to Hell. Javert did not grace them with a response.
Scaling the lower entrenchment in the Mondétour lane was difficult, but Valjean helped him get over it.
"Take your revenge, coward, and Cosette away from me, for this is the only way you can do it," Javert told him.
Jean Valjean thrust the pistol under his arm and took out a knife.
"A clasp-knife!" exclaimed Javert, "you are right. That suits you better."
Jean Valjean cut the martingale which Javert had about his neck, then he cut the cords on his wrists, then, stooping down, he cut the cord on his feet; and, straightening himself up, he said to him:
"Now we'll both go to Cosette."
Javert was not easily astonished. Still, master of himself though he was, he could not repress a start. He remained open-mouthed and motionless.
"She would not stop crying. I had to give her Laudanum to make her sleep after three of your men came to tell her you were missing. They told me where you'd gone. I shan't cause my daughter such misery or grief. Let us leave." Valjean then aimed his pistol to the sky and fired, and began to walk away. "I hope you can find us a way out of here," he added to Javert, who was still standing still. "I've given away my uniform, and we're both dressed like civilians."
"I have my papers," Javert said stiffly. "I will get us through." Together, both men began to walk away.
"You could have killed me and bought yourself freedom," Javert said.
"I would have also bought Cosette heartbreak. She loves you. And I am no murderer."
"You'd do anything for her."
"As would you, Inspector Javert," he said wisely, and Javert shut his mouth. He pulled out his papers from his pocket.
"Let me talk, Fauchelevent," he said, using Valjean's assumed name.
Soon, they were stopped by soldiers, who aimed their guns at them. "Halt!" Javert commanded with his hands raised, "I am Police Inspector Javert, and I have here my commands from the Prefect of Police!" He kept his identification card high and the arms of France engraved on it visible for them.
One of the soldiers approached him while the others kept their weapons trained on Javert and Valjean. He took the papers to a lieutenant, who read them through, and asked Javert: "What about the other one?"
"This is Monsieur Fauchelevent, the father of my future wife. I was captured by the insurgents while spying on them, according to my orders: he heard from three of my men where I was and came after me, pretending to be on their side and set me free."
"Let them both pass," the lieutenant said, and the soldiers lowered their weapons.
"Do you have information on the barricade, Inspector Javert?" the lieutenant asked more politely.
"I do."
"Were you in the Rue de la Chanvrerie barricade?"
"Yes."
"Come with us, then. We are about to strike down on them, and information will help.
"Come along, Fauchelevent," Javert commanded Valjean. "Follow me."
"Inspector, many of them are barely older than boys, and there was a little boy in there, just a child," Valjean said quietly. "Please have mercy on them."
"They've chosen to defy order, Fauchelevent," Javert replied, "and I cannot influence what the military decides to do to them. It is my task to bring them the information, nothing more. Had I not been captured, I would have attempted to sabotage their ammunition and gunpowder and the army might have been able to take more of them alive, to be sentenced according to the law."
"They are desperate and hungry," Valjean said quietly.
"The law is the law, and the law must not be defied," Javert said, and glared at Valjean: he did not wish to go through this argument with the former convict, and especially not here, where they were surrounded by the military bent of crushing all signs of rebellion. He now had the duty to bring Cosette's father home. And more than anything he wanted to go to Rue Plumet, take his bride into his arms and hold her for hours.
He would never like Valjean: at best they would tolerate each other, Javert thought, but they were in agreement about one thing, and that thing was Cosette's happiness. If Valjean had decided that Cosette would be unhappy without him, and he knew she'd be unhappy without Valjean, they'd learn to tolerate each other and learn to exist in the same space.
Javert relayed what he'd learned of the supplies and defences at the barricade to the military: how many weapons he'd seen, ammunition he'd heard them speaking about, and described the public-house they'd holed themselves into. His mission done, he was sent to report to Prefect Gisquet, his superior.
Gisquet was busy, but took a brief report from Javert. "Well done," he sighed. "You got free, and you'll be able identify the corpses, prisoners and those who possibly managed to flee. We'll need every man to assist in searching the sewers, however. Have you your uniform?"
"I left it in my lodgings," replied Javert.
"Very well. I suggest you escort your future father-in-law home, eat a little and fetch proper clothing more suitable for a policeman. I know you well enough to know you'll want to get back to your duties, Inspector Javert, but you should take your time to greet your betrothed. Finest women are like frail flowers, they are easily bruised by the very thought of their men in danger."
Had it not been for Cosette waiting for news of his health, Javert would have found himself a proper coat and joined the search immediately, resuming his duties without as much as a pause: now, the thought of Cosette waiting for him filled him with longing, and he departed with Valjean on tow. Javert took them two horses from the stables. Javert took a proper, fast steed, but Valjean confessed he wasn't an experienced rider, and selected an even-tempered older horse.
The journey to Rue Plumet seemed nearly endless: Valjean's steed was slow, and Javert had to resist his desire to rush his horse. Gisquet had supplied him with new papers, and they had to stop once to show them to a patrol that was sweeping Paris under the command of General Bugeaud, while Gisquet was in charge of underground sweeps. The sounds of ongoing battle could still be heard: the patrol sent them off almost immediately.
"Some of my men came, you said?" Javert inquired as rode on.
"Yes. Three young officers by the names of Lefavre, Brunelle and Marine."
"All good men," Javert confirmed with a small nod of his head.
"They said you hadn't been seen since you entered the barricade, and that they'd expected you back sooner. They knew Cosette would worry about you, knowing you visit her every day the same time, and so they waited until they were sure you wouldn't show up and then came to deliver the news. Cosette was distraught, and I gave her Laudanum mixed with cognac and left her in care of Toussaint."
"You put her at risk," Javer accused him. "She might have lost us both, and then where would she be?"
"I prayed to God for the best. And I couldn't live with her tears."
"Still..."
"We're both alive, and she'll be happy to see you. Although she might be asleep, for I left Toussaint another dose of Laudanum and cognac in case she woke up and had another bout of nerves."
They needn't have worried: when Javert and Valjean entered through the gate of Rue de Babylone, Cosette rushed through the door and towards them. Javert jumped off his steed and opened his arms to the girl, and she rushed straight into his arms, sobbing with relief. Their lips met despite Cosette's father being right next to them, and Javert could feel his heart hammer with relief, tension in his muscles easing.
"Father, you did it, you brought him back to me! Thank you, father, thank you!" Cosette cried, rushing to hug her father, who'd managed to dismount, although with much less grace than Javert. Soon, although not soon enough for Javert, she returned to his arms, and Javert could once again bury his nose into her brown, gold-streaked hair, and close his eyes with satisfaction.
"Cosette," Valjean said gently, "I believe the inspector hasn't eaten for quite some time. Perhaps we should take him inside and have Toussaint prepare him some food."
"Ah! of course. I'll go and ask Toussaint immediately!" she cried, rushing inside. Javert couldn't help it: for the first time in his life he grinned boyishly.