There was once a man known as Bamatabois. He was the source of one of Fantine's biggest and one of the final conflicts in her lifetime.

It was a January night, in 1823, and it was a snowy evening. Bamatabois wore a heavy cloak to keep warm, along with a fashionable outfit at the time, though modernly, it would have looked outlandish. It was evident he had wealth, though of his short, rat like face displeased many women. Many women were displeased by his looks, but still he continued his sinful actions, and often forced actions.

He stood in the town with a cigar in his mouth, enjoying the show occurring right before him. A woman of all low status passed by the man, and he commented snidely, "How ugly you are! Will you get out of my sight? You have no teeth!" He kept making these remarks as the woman passed by him, but she ignored him. She did not even glance in his direction.

The small effect which he produced no doubt piqued the lounger; and taking advantage of a moment when her back was turned, he crept up behind her with the gait of a wolf, and stifling his laugh, bent down, picked up a handful of snow from the pavement, and thrust it abruptly into her back, between her bare shoulders. Another handful was shoved down the delicate space of the woman's breasts, and that was enough to frustrate any woman.

The woman uttered a roar, whirled round, gave a leap like a panther, and hurled herself upon the man, burying her nails in his face, with the most frightful words which could fall from the guard-room into the gutter. These insults, poured forth in a voice roughened by brandy, did, indeed, proceed in hideous wise from a mouth which lacked its two front teeth. It was Fantine who the man insulted, and she was furious. She could often be compared to a wild cat, but with more human like characteristics.

The noise did not stop, and as a result, officers rushed out of a nearby pub, obviously drunk, but still sober enough to see what was disturbing the peace. They surrounded the fighting man and woman, and just then a man with a large figure emerged from the crowd.

"Come with me!" He ordered Fantine as she was ripped off of the man she was attacking. A now muddy and freezing Fantine looked up slowly, her gaze glassy, as she trembled in fear. She recognized the officer, it was the feared Javert.

Bamatabois took this moment to flee the scene, leaving the terrified Fantine in Javert's grasp. She trembled with brown eyes wide, as she watched Javert's emotionless face drag her away from the scene of her "crime".

Javert thrust aside the spectators, broke the circle, and set out with long strides towards the police station, which is situated at the extremity of the square, dragging the wretched woman after him. She yielded mechanically. Neither he nor she uttered a word. The cloud of spectators followed, jesting, in a paroxysm of delight. Supreme misery an occasion for obscenity, and many knew what was about to occur.

On arriving at the police station, which was a low room, warmed by a stove, with a glazed and grated door opening on the street, and guarded by a detachment, Javert opened the door, entered with Fantine, and shut the door behind him, to the great disappointment of the curious, who raised themselves on tiptoe, and craned their necks in front of the thick glass of the station-house, in their effort to see. Curiosity is a sort of gluttony. To see is to devour.

On entering, Fantine fell down in a corner, motionless and mute, crouching down like a terrified dog. She might as well have been considered one, or at least in the majority's eyes.

The sergeant of the guard brought a lighted candle to the table. Javert seated himself, drew a sheet of stamped paper from his pocket, and began to write furiously. Line after line of writing appeared, and Javert showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

This class of women is consigned by our laws entirely to the discretion of the police. The latter do what they please, punish them, as seems good to them, and confiscate at their will those two sorry things which they entitle their industry and their liberty. Javert was impassive; his grave face betrayed no emotion whatever. Nevertheless, he was seriously and deeply preoccupied. It was one of those moments when he was exercising without control, but subject to all the scruples of a severe conscience, his redoubtable discretionary power. At that moment he was conscious that his police agent's stool was a tribunal. He was entering judgment. He judged and condemned. He summoned all the ideas which could possibly exist in his mind, around the great thing which he was doing.

The more he examined the deed of this woman, the more shocked he felt. It was evident that he had just witnessed the commission of a crime. He had just beheld, yonder, in the street, society, in the person of a freeholder and an elector, insulted and attacked by a creature that was outside all pales. A prostitute had made an attempt on the life of a citizen. He had seen that, he, Javert. He wrote in silence, a silence he was used to by this point. Long hours in the work of the police force had done this to the man known as Javert.

When he had finished he signed the paper, folded it, and said to the sergeant of the guard, as he handed it to him, "Take three men and conduct this creature to jail." This was all he said to the man, who nodded and turned away to gather three men suitable for the job.

Then, turning to Fantine, "You are to have six months of it." The unhappy woman shuddered, thinking of her daughter, who for all she knew was dying of illness. Six months would be too long; there would be no way for her to provide for her darling Cosette!

"Six months! Six months of prison!" she exclaimed furiously, her pupils dilating in anger, and most of all, fear. "Six months in which to earn seven sous a day! But what will become of Cosette? My daughter! My daughter! But I still owe the Thénardiers over a hundred francs; do you know that, Monsieur Inspector?" Fantine's tone was pleading, and her dark eyes were wide and pleading. But Javert wouldn't take any of it.

She dragged herself across the damp floor, among the muddy boots of all those men, without rising, with clasped hands, and taking great strides on her knees. Her desperation was ignored, much to her despair. There was no hope in the damp police station, the aging grey stone walls providing no comfort in this situation.

"Monsieur Javert," said she, "I beseech your mercy. I assure you that I was not in the wrong. If you had seen the beginning, you would have seen. I swear to you by the good God that I was not to blame! That gentleman, the bourgeois, whom I do not know, put snow in my back. Has anyone the right to put snow down our backs when we are walking along peaceably, and doing no harm to any one? I am rather ill, as you see. And then, he had been saying impertinent things to me for a long time: `You are ugly! You have no teeth!' I know well that I have no longer those teeth. I did nothing; I said to me, `The gentleman is amusing himself.' I was honest with him; I did not speak to him. It was at that moment that he put the snow down my back. Monsieur Javert, good Monsieur Inspector! Is there not some person here who saw it and can tell you that this is quite true? Perhaps I did wrong to get angry after all! You know that one is not master of one's self at the first moment. One gives way to vivacity; and then, when someone puts something cold down your back just when you are not expecting it! I did wrong to spoil that gentleman's hat. Why did he go away? I would ask his pardon. Oh, my God! It makes no difference to me whether I ask his pardon. Do me the favor to-day, for this once, Monsieur Javert. Hold! you do not know that in prison one can earn only seven sous a day; it is not the government's fault, but seven sous is one's earnings; and just fancy, I must pay one hundred francs, or my little girl will be sent to me. Oh, my God! I cannot have her with me. What I do is so vile! Oh, my Cosette! Oh, my little angel of the Holy Virgin! What will become of her, poor creature? I will tell you: it is the Thénardiers, inn-keepers, peasants; and such people are unreasonable. They want money. Don't put me in prison! You see, there is a little girl who will be turned out into the street to get along as best she may, in the very heart of the winter; and you must have pity on such a being, my good Monsieur Javert. If she were older, she might earn her living; but it cannot be done at that age. I am not a bad woman at bottom. It is not cowardliness and gluttony that have made me what I am. If I have drunk brandy, it was out of misery. I do not love it; but it benumbs the senses. When I was happy, it was only necessary to glance into my closets, and it would have been evident that I was not a coquettish and untidy woman. I had linen, a great deal of linen. Have pity on me, Monsieur Javert!"

She spoke thus, rent in twain, shaken with sobs, blinded with tears, her neck bare, wringing her hands, and coughing with a dry, short cough, stammering softly with a voice of agony. Great sorrow is a divine and terrible ray, which transfigures the unhappy. At that moment Fantine had become beautiful once more. From time to time she paused, and tenderly kissed the police agent's coat. She would have softened a heart of granite; but a heart of wood cannot be softened. Javert was ruthless, as he took his duty to the law very seriously. There was no going back for the man known as Javert, enforcer of the law. He had gone down a path, a path that he had assumed that pleased the Lord himself.

"Come!" said Javert, "I have heard you out for long enough. Have you entirely finished your rant yet? You will get six months in the jail. Now march, get out of here! The Eternal Father in person could do nothing more for you, wench."

At these solemn words, "the Eternal Father in person could do nothing more," she understood that her fate was sealed. She sank down, murmuring, "Mercy!" She continued her pleading cries, but they were lost in the air, never to be taken seriously.

Javert turned his back, ignoring Fantine's pleading cries to be let go that continued like a cried mantra, but were never heard.

The soldiers seized her by the arms roughly, and she wanted to cry out in pain as they surely bruised her arms.

A few moments earlier a man had entered, but no one had paid any heed to him. He shut the door, leaned his back against it, and listened to Fantine's despairing supplications.

At the instant when the soldiers laid their hands upon the unfortunate woman, who would not rise, he emerged from the shadow, and said, "One moment, if you please."

Javert raised his eyes and recognized M. Madeleine. He removed his hat, and, saluting him with a sort of aggrieved awkwardness, "Excuse me, Mr. Mayor-" He began, but was interrupted before he could actually continue.

The words "Mr. Mayor" produced a curious effect upon Fantine. She rose to her feet with one bound, like a specter springing from the earth, thrust aside the soldiers with both arms, walked straight up to M. Madeleine before anyone could prevent her, and gazing intently at him, with a bewildered air, she cried, "Ah! So it is you who are M. le Maire!"

Then she burst into a laugh, and spit in his face with a vengeance.

M. Madeleine wiped his face, and said, "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. To see a woman of the town spit in the mayor's face was a thing so monstrous that, in his most daring flights of fancy, he would have regarded it as a sacrilege to believe it possible. On the other hand, at the very bottom of his thought, he made a hideous comparison as to what this woman was, and as to what this mayor might be; and then he, with horror, caught a glimpse of I know not what simple explanation of this prodigious attack. But when he beheld that mayor, that magistrate, calmly wipe his face and say, "Set this woman at liberty," he underwent a sort of intoxication of amazement; thought and word failed him equally; the sum total of possible astonishment had been exceeded in his case. He remained mute out of shock and somewhat resentment.

The words had produced no less strange an effect on Fantine. She raised her bare arm, and clung to the damper of the stove, like a person who is reeling. Nevertheless, she glanced about her, and began to speak in a low voice, as though talking to herself,

"At liberty! I am to be allowed to go! I am not to go to prison for six months! Who said that? It is not possible that anyone could have said that. I did not hear aright. 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. If that is not a horror, what is? To dismiss a poor girl who is doing her work honestly! Then I could no longer earn enough, and all this misery followed. In the first place, there is one improvement which these gentlemen of the police ought to make, and that is, to prevent prison contractors from wronging poor people. I will explain it to you, you see: you are earning twelve sous at shirt-making, the price falls to nine sous; and it is not enough to live on. Then one has to become whatever one can. As for me, I had my little Cosette, and I was actually forced to become a bad woman. Now you understand how it is that that blackguard of a mayor caused all the mischief. After that I stamped on that gentleman's hat in front of the officers' cafe; but he had spoiled my whole dress with snow. We women have but one silk dress for evening wear. You see that I did not do wrong deliberately-truly, Monsieur Javert; and everywhere I behold women who are far more wicked than I, and who are much happier. O Monsieur Javert! It was you who gave orders that I am to be set free, was it not? Make inquiries, speak to my landlord; I am paying my rent now; they will tell you that I am perfectly honest. Ah! My God! I beg your pardon; I have unintentionally touched the damper of the stove, and it has made it smoke."

M. Madeleine listened to her with profound attention. While she was speaking, he fumbled in his waistcoat, drew out his purse and opened it. It was empty. He put it back in his pocket. He said to Fantine, "How much did you say that you owed?"

Fantine, who was looking at Javert, only, turned towards him, "Was I speaking to you?"

Then, addressing the soldiers, "Say, you fellows, did you see how I spit in his face? Ah! You old wretch of a mayor, you came here to frighten me, but I'm not afraid of you. I am afraid of Monsieur Javert. I am afraid of my good Monsieur Javert!"

So saying, she turned to the inspector again, "And yet, you see, Mr. Inspector, it is necessary to be just. I understand that you are just, Mr. Inspector; in fact, it is perfectly simple: a man amuses himself by putting snow down a woman's back, and that makes the officers laugh; one must divert themselves in some way; and we-well, we are here for them to amuse themselves with, of course! And then, you, you come; you are certainly obliged to preserve order, you lead off the woman who is in the wrong; but on reflection, since you are a good man, you say that I am to be set at liberty; it is for the sake of the little one, for six months in prison would prevent my supporting my child. `Only, don't do it again, you hussy!' Oh! I won't do it again, Monsieur Javert! They may do whatever they please to me now; I will not stir. But to-day, you see, I cried because it hurt me. I was not expecting that snow from the gentleman at all; and then as I told you, I am not well; I have a cough; I seem to have a burning ball in my stomach, and the doctor tells me, `Take care of yourself.' Here, feel, give me your hand; don't be afraid- it is here."

She no longer wept, her voice was caressing; she placed Javert's coarse hand on her delicate, white throat and looked smilingly at him.

All at once she rapidly adjusted her disordered garments, dropped the folds of her skirt, which had been pushed up as she dragged herself along, almost to the height of her knee, and stepped towards the door, saying to the soldiers in a low voice, and with a friendly nod,

"Children, Monsieur l'Inspecteur has said that I am to be released, and I am going."

She laid her hand on the latch of the door. One step more and she would be in the street.

Javert up to that moment had remained erect, motionless, with his eyes fixed on the ground, cast athwart this scene like some displaced statue, which is waiting to be put away somewhere.

The sound of the latch roused him. He raised his head with an expression of sovereign authority, an expression all the more alarming in proportion as the authority rests on a low level, ferocious in the wild beast, atrocious in the man of no estate.

"Sergeant!" he cried, "don't you see that that jade is walking off! Who bade you let her go?"

"I," said Madeleine, his tone firm and hard.

Fantine trembled at the sound of Javert's voice, and let go of the latch as a thief relinquishes the article which he has stolen. At the sound of Madeleine's voice she turned around, and from that moment forth she uttered no word, nor dared so much as to breathe freely, but her glance strayed from Madeleine to Javert, and from Javert to Madeleine in turn, according to which was speaking.

It was evident that Javert must have been exasperated beyond measure before he would permit himself to apostrophize the sergeant as he had done, after the mayor's suggestion that Fantine should be set at liberty. Had he reached the point of forgetting the mayor's presence? Had he finally declared to himself that it was impossible that any "authority" should have given such an order, and that the mayor must certainly have said one thing by mistake for another, without intending it? Or, in view of the enormities of which he had been a witness for the past two hours, did he say to himself, that it was necessary to recur to supreme resolutions, that it was indispensable that the small should be made great, that the police spy should transform himself into a magistrate, that the policeman should become a dispenser of justice, and that, in this prodigious extremity, order, law, morality, government, society in its entirety, was personified in him, Javert?

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 can this lovely woman's arrest be taken away?" said M. Madeleine, with a single eyebrow rose in wonders and doubt.

"This miserable woman has insulted a citizen." Javert protested, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood tall and proudly, like a true enforcer of the law.

"Inspector Javert," replied the mayor, in a calm and conciliating tone, "listen. You are an honest man, and I feel no hesitation in explaining matters to you. Here is the true state of the case: I was passing through the square just as you were leading this woman away; there were still groups of people standing about, and I made inquiries and learned everything; it was the townsman who was in the wrong and who should have been arrested by properly conducted police."

Javert retorted, "This wretch has just insulted Monsieur le Maire."

"That concerns me," said M. Madeleine. "My own insult belongs to me, I think. I can do what I please about it."

"I beg Monsieur le Maire's pardon. The insult is not to him but to the law." Javert was not going down without a fight.

"Inspector Javert," replied M. Madeleine, "the highest law is conscience. I have heard this woman; I know what I am doing."

"And I, Mr. Mayor, do not know what I see."

"Then content yourself with obeying."

"I am obeying my duty. My duty demands that this woman shall serve six months in prison."

M. Madeleine replied gently,

"Heed this well; she will not serve a single day."

At this decisive word, Javert ventured to fix a searching look on the mayor and to say, but in a tone of voice that was still profoundly respectful,

"I am sorry to oppose Monsieur le Maire; it is for the first time in my life, but he will permit me to remark that I am within the bounds of my authority. I confine myself, since Monsieur le Maire desires it, to the question of the gentleman. I was present. This woman flung herself on Monsieur Bamatabnois, who is an elector and the proprietor of that handsome house with a balcony, which forms the corner of the esplanade, three stories high and entirely of cut stone. Such things as there are in the world! In any case, Monsieur le Maire, this is a question of police regulations in the streets, and concerns me, and I shall detain this woman Fantine."

Then M. Madeleine folded his arms, and said in a severe voice which no one in the town had heard hitherto,

"The matter to which you refer is one connected with the municipal police. According to the terms of articles nine, eleven, fifteen, and sixty-six of the code of criminal examination, I am the judge. I order that this woman shall be set at liberty."

Javert ventured to make a final effort.

"But, Mr. Mayor-"

"I refer you to article eighty-one of the law of the 13th of December, 1799, in regard to arbitrary detention."

"Monsieur le Maire, permit me-"

"Not another word."

"But-"

"Leave the room," said M. Madeleine.

Javert received the blow erect, full in the face, in his breast, like a Russian soldier. He bowed to the very earth before the mayor and left the room.

Fantine stood aside from the door and stared at him in amazement as he passed.

Nevertheless, she also was the prey to a strange confusion. She had just seen herself a subject of dispute between two opposing powers. She had seen two men who held in their hands her liberty, her life, her soul, her child, in combat before her very eyes; one of these men was drawing her towards darkness, the other was leading her back towards the light. In this conflict, viewed through the exaggerations of terror, these two men had appeared to her like two giants; the one spoke like her demon, the other like her good angel. The angel had conquered the demon, and, strange to say, that which made her shudder from head to foot was the fact that this angel, this liberator, was the very man whom she abhorred, that mayor whom she had so long regarded as the author of all her woes, that Madeleine! And at the very moment when she had insulted him in so hideous a fashion, he had saved her! Had she, then, been mistaken? Must she change her whole soul? She did not know; she trembled. She listened in bewilderment, she looked on in affright, and at every word uttered by M. Madeleine she felt the frightful shades of hatred crumble and melt within her, and something warm and ineffable, indescribable, which was joy, confidence and love, dawn in her heart.

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? But here; I will pay your debts, I will send for your child, or you shall go to her. You shall live here, in Paris, or where you please. I undertake the care of your child and yourself. You shall not work any longer if you do not like. I will give all the money you require. You shall be honest and happy once more. And listen! I declare to you that if all is as you say,-and I do not doubt it, you have never ceased to be virtuous and holy in the sight of God. Oh! Poor woman."

This was more than Fantine could bear. To have Cosette! To leave this life of infamy. To live free, rich, happy, respectable with Cosette; to see all these realities of paradise blossom of a sudden in the midst of her misery. She stared stupidly at this man who was talking to her, and could only give vent to two or three sobs, "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Her limbs gave way beneath her, she knelt in front of M. Madeleine, and before he could prevent her he felt her grasp his hand and press her lips to it.

Then she fainted at his feet. M. Madeleine sighed as he picked up the woman, who was surprisingly light, and then he had her placed into an infirmary promptly.

Fantine woke, but was severely ill. Every day she would ask, "When shall I see my darling Cosette?"

And M. Madeleine would always respond, "She is coming, and with Godspeed."

She still continued to weaken, as illness ravaged inside of her body. Fantine's days were obviously numbered, but no Cosette showed up within the weeks to come. Fantine began to get restless within her confines; she wanted to see her darling Cosette one more time, as the woman refused to believe she was dying from illness.

Finally, the doctor even asked M. Madeleine where this mystical child named Cosette was.

M. Madeleine said to the doctor, "Well?"

"Has she not a child which she desires to see?" said the doctor with a single raised eyebrow.

"Yes." M. Madeleine said vaguely, not wanting to truly interfere.

"Well! Make haste and get it here!" The doctor exclaimed as he motioned to the dying Fantine. "Her days are obviously numbered!"

M. Madeleine shuddered at the thought; this was going to be a tough task.

Fantine inquired, "What did the doctor say?"

M. Madeleine forced him to smile for her benefit.

"He said that your child was to be brought speedily. That that would restore your health."

"Oh!" she rejoined, "he is right! But what do those Thénardiers mean by keeping my Cosette from me! Oh! She is coming. At last I behold happiness close beside me!"

In the meantime Thénardier did not "let go of the child," and gave a hundred insufficient reasons for it. Cosette was not quite well enough to take a journey in the winter. And then, there still remained some petty but pressing debts in the neighborhood, and they were collecting the bills for them, etc., etc.

"I shall send someone to fetch Cosette!" said Father Madeleine. "If necessary, I will go myself." He promised gently to the dying woman in the bedside, who gave a weak smile to his efforts.

He wrote the following letter to Fantine's dictation, and made her sign it:

"MONSIEUR THENARDIER,

You will deliver Cosette to this person.

You will be paid for all the little things.

I have the honor to salute you with respect.

"FANTINE."

The letter was sent, and they all awaited an answer from these elusive Thénardiers.

But the next day M. Madeleine was visited by an unexpected visitor. He sat in his study, when he heard the wooden door creak open. He glanced behind him, and his eyes widened as he saw Javert standing their solemnly.

Javert had his hat off, and at his chest. M. Madeleine feared the worst as he saw the grim expression on the officer's face. Had he been found out?

If any physiognomist who had been familiar with Javert, and who had made a lengthy study of this savage in the service of civilization, this singular composite of the Roman, the Spartan, the monk, and the corporal, this spy who was incapable of a lie, this unspotted police agent-if any physiognomist had known his secret and long-cherished aversion for M. Madeleine, his conflict with the mayor on the subject of Fantine, and had examined Javert at that moment, he would have said to himself, "What has taken place?" It was evident to any one acquainted with that clear, upright, sincere, honest, austere, and ferocious conscience, that Javert had but just gone through some great interior struggle. Javert had nothing in his soul which he had not also in his countenance. Like violent people in general, he was subject to abrupt changes of opinion. His physiognomy had never been more peculiar and startling. On entering he bowed to M. Madeleine with a look in which there was neither rancor, anger, nor distrust; he halted a few paces in the rear of the mayor's arm-chair, and there he stood, perfectly erect, in an attitude almost of discipline, with the cold, ingenuous roughness of a man who has never been gentle and who has always been patient; he waited without uttering a word, without making a movement, in genuine humility and tranquil resignation, calm, serious, hat in hand, with eyes cast down, and an expression which was half-way between that of a soldier in the presence of his officer and a criminal in the presence of his judge, until it should please the mayor to turn round. All the sentiments as well as all the memories which one might have attributed to him had disappeared. That face, as impenetrable and simple as granite, no longer bore any trace of anything but a melancholy depression. His whole person breathed lowliness and firmness and an indescribable courageous despondency.

"What do you need, Javert?" He asked after a moment, sounding annoyed, but he feared the worst still.

Javert remained silent for an instant as though collecting his ideas, then raised his voice with a sort of sad solemnity, which did not, however, preclude simplicity.

"I have a crime to declare. I have disgraced the uniform I wear, I have done you wrong. Let no forgiveness be shown! I mistook you for a convict, I made a false report." M. Madeleine raised an eyebrow, but he gulped. Javert had been on the right track, but believed to be wrong. This was a close shave.

"I have just found out they have caught the convict. This man claims not be him, but I knew we would catch the elusive Jean Valjean one day! Press charges, against me, if you wish." Javert looked down in shame, and M. Madeleine looked down, contemplating his options.

"You say this man refuses to acknowledge that he is this convict, Jean Valjean?" M. Madeleine asked, his tone somewhat worried. Javert nodded gravely, his eyes now downcast to the wooden floors below. "He shall go trial?" Another nod confirmed M. Madeleine's greatest fears. "Alright, but you are forgiven. No charges, it was a mere coincidence."

Javert looked astonished at this statement, but as he opened his mouth up to protest, Madeleine gave him a look, and it said not to protest against his decision.

"Thank you, Monsieur le Maire." He murmured as he turned and exited M. Madeleine's office with a rigid posture. M. Madeleine was left shaken as he stared at his open palms, debating over his options here.

Later that night, M. Madeleine returned from visiting Fantine's bedside with grave news from the nun sisters who were taking care of the sickened woman.

Fantine had less than a week, the illness within her ravaged from within her body, slowly but surely deteriorating the woman who had a strong spirit, and a strong will to back up with it.

"Who am I?" He muttered as he stared blankly at the candlesticks on the mahogany wood dresser in his large home. Conveniently, it was near the church, but that is not relevant to this tale.

The candlesticks symbolized an important part to M. Madeleine's life. Once, he was an innocent man who stole a loaf of bread from a bakery, all to feed his elder sister's malnourished children. He was caught, and was sentenced to be a slave. Numerous escape attempts later, he had managed to rack up 18-19 years' worth of jail time as a slave, and now it was paid off. He was given a parole sheet warning all of his true identity, but it didn't stop him. A kind bishop named Myriel gave him shelter, and the silver he had attempted to steal. Now, look where he was, wealthy, but living his life in fear of being caught.

"Why should I save his hide? Why should I right this wrong? When I have come so far, and struggled for so long?" M. Madeleine pondered as he stared out at the city of Montreuil in the nighttime. The city was still alive with people, and candle lights flickered all throughout the city.

"If I speak, I am condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned!" M. Madeleine sighed as he put his head in his hands; all of this was so hard to determine what to do.

"I am the master of hundreds of workers. They all look to me! How can I abandon them? How would they live, if I am not free?"

Within a split second, M. Madeleine knew what he had to do. The trial was that night, and he was going to put his soul to eternal rest, in the path of the Lord.

The carriage awaited him outside, almost as if the elderly driver knew what the mayor's decision would be before he even announced it.

"Where to?" The aging old man grumbled as he glanced up at the mayor through the slits of his eyelids.

"The courthouse." A single white eyebrow rose at this, but the driver knew he was going to get paid, so he didn't bother to question it. "Alright then."

M. Madeleine climbed into the carriage, and watched as the scenery of the town went by. He relished the taste of freedom as the wind rushed at his face, creating a warm, yet freezing cold feeling within the ex-convict.

They reached the courthouse within the timespan of an hour, and M. Madeleine thanked the driver, giving him 30 francs, a rather hefty sum. He entered through the dark oak doors, and followed the sounds of voices.

"Who am I?" He muttered, and continued that mantra as he burst into the trail room. All eyes went upon the mayor, who knew it was too late to go back now. "WHO AM I?" He roared as he made it to the front of the room, where the innocent accused man stood wringing his hands in worry. With one glance, M. Madeleine knew this man resembled his former self, but wasn't. "I AM 24601!" He bellowed as he clasped his hands behind his back, and many in the courtroom looked at him in shock.

"Mr. Mayor," One of the judges came down from his stand. "You must be ill. Go home and rest, and let us take care of this criminal."

M. Madeleine- or shall we say Jean Valjean? – felt his heart sink, but nodded. "But please do pass on what I have said here to Javert. He truly would be interested to hear what I have to say."

The judge nodded, he was naïve about the relations of Jean Valjean and the mysterious Javert of law enforcement.

By the time Jean had returned home, it was near midnight. He immediately went to Fantine's bedside, as he only knew how much time he had left before she joined the deceased. He now knew Javert was going to be after him once he heard the news, so now he must hurry if he wanted to get all of his deeds done.

He entered the room to see Fantine reaching into the nonexistent air in front of her. "Cosette, my darling. Come to mother, come to me." She was whispering into the night now, as she had a delusional smile on her face. Jean's heart sank as he knew the ugly truth was rearing its head; Fantine was at her final moments.

As he walked over to the frail and dying woman, her once gentle and warm brown eyes snapped to his. "Where is she?!" She cried out, thrashing in the small bed she was contained to. "Where has she gone?" She sobbed as she had no more energy to continue her antics, and Fantine fell back into the bed. Jean Valjean embraced her and looked into her shining brown orbs, seeing the tears threatening to break loose off of the woman in front of him.

"Cosette is coming." He promised gently as he caressed her face, and Fantine seemed to be pleased by this answer. But their moment was interrupted.

"Valjean, at last, we see each other plain.'M'sieur le Mayor', you'll wear a different chain." It was the voice Jean Valjean dreaded the most, the deep tenor of Javert. Fantine's glossy, confused eyes drifted over to the officer, who scoffed at the sight of her in the bed.

"Before you say another word, Javert! Before you chain me up like a slave again, listen to me! There is something I must do. This woman leaves behind a suffering child! There is none but me who can intercede, in Mercy's name, three days are all I need. Then I'll return, I pledge my word. Then I'll return...!" Jean Valjean said as he gently placed a greatly confused Fantine down, who looked worried by this point.

"You must think me mad!" Javert sneered as he reached for the sword at his waist. "I've hunted you across the years! A man like you can never change! A man... such as you..."

Fantine was seized with a fit of trembling.

"My child!" she cried, "to go and fetch my child! She is not here, then! Answer me, sister; where is Cosette? I want my child! Monsieur Madeleine! Monsieur le Maire!"

Javert stamped his foot with impatience; he hated how foolish this woman was.

"And now there's the other one! Will you hold your tongue, you hussy? It's a pretty sort of a place where convicts are magistrates, and where women of the town are cared for like countesses! Ah! But we are going to change all that; it is high time!"

He stared intently at Fantine, and added, once more taking into his grasp Jean Valjean's cravat, shirt and collar, "I tell you that there is no Monsieur Madeleine and that there is no Monsieur le Maire. There is a thief, a brigand, a convict named Jean Valjean! And I have him in my grasp! That's what there is!"

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.

Her head struck the head-board of the bed and fell forwards on her breast, with gaping mouth and staring, sightless eyes.

She was dead.

"You have murdered that woman." Jean Valjean muttered quietly as he stared at Fantine's corpse, still displaying that same look of shock.

Men like me can never change; men like you can never change! No, 24601, my duty's to the law!" Javert exclaimed as his eyes shone with determination. He was so close to his dreams, and he could practically taste it on his tongue. It lit his senses on fire, and he could see red.

"You have no rights, come with me 24601. Now the wheel has turned around, Jean Valjean is nothing now! Dare you talk to me of crime, and the price you had to pay! Every man is born in sin, every man must choose his way! You know nothing of Javert, I was born inside a jail, I was born with scum like you, and I am from the gutter too!" Javert admitted as he fully unsheathed his swords, and began to try to slash Jean Valjean with the sword.

Jean Valjean was smart; after all, years as a slave had been somewhat beneficial. He pulled a stray piece of wood from the wall, and used it to block all of the sword strikes. Javert knew perfectly how to aim his slashes with precision, and this was an intense battle.

"Believe of me what you will!" Jean Valjean had shouted at the same exact time Javert had made his statement. "There is a duty that I'm sworn to do!" Now he talked about his oath to Fantine, he was going to respect her final wishes. "You know nothing of my life! All I did was steal some bread! You know nothing of the world; you would rather see me dead. But not before I see this justice done!"

"I am warning you Javert! I'm a stronger man by far! There is power in me yet! My race is not yet run! I am warning you Javert! There is nothing I won't dare, if I have to kill you here! I'll do what must be done!" Jean Valjean swore as he blocked another lethal strike, but Javert had won by this point. Jean was backed into a corner, and he had nowhere to run.

Javert smirked a lethal smile as he brought his sword up one final time, but Jean was too quick and intelligent. There was a window behind Jean Valjean, and he leaped backwards, and into the Seine River.

As he had said, Jean Valjean had a duty to do, and he wasn't going to give up so easily. Not even to the ruthless Javert, who would hunt him down to the ends of the Earth.

Valjean was going to find Cosette.

End of Chapter 3.

Translations:

Bourgeois: Adj. When pronounced "BOO-zhee" (soft-j sound like in French) refers to a quality of (sometimes mildly) snobby-without-realizing-it, upper-middle-class sensibilities. Usually associated with upper-middle-income white people, but not necessarily.

Monsieur: It is also a customary French title of respect and term of address for a French-speaking man, corresponding to such English titles as Mr. or sir.

M. Madeleine: Jean Valjean's alias, Monsieur Madeleine.

l'Inspecteur: French for inspector

Monsieur le Maire: French for Mr. Mayor

Montreuil: Commonly referred to as M. sur. M. throughout the novel Les Misérables. I am retaining that fact throughout this. A City in France.