"Unbelievable," said Javert, shaking his head. "And they ask me why I never married! You women are crazy, that's why! So, some first-comer from the street doesn't make you uncomfortable, but a health officer does? Unbelievable."

Fantine simply tucked her head deeper into her shoulders, desperately hoping that the earth would just open up and swallow her.

A few raised voices became audible outside: an escalating quarrel.

"Blood and thunder, what now?" With a murderous glint in his eyes, Javert grabbed the rattan propped against the desk, crossed the room in three long strides, and threw open the door. The abused door hinges emitted a piteous squeak. Three young men in uniform stood ankle-deep in virginally white snow a few paces away from the station threshold with their heads turned towards the sound. Javert's sudden appearance had caught two of them in an awkward sort of half-embrace and the third one with his hands flat on both their chests. All three were red-faced, out of breath, and dishevelled.

Javert unhurriedly looked over the flustered trio. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything... personal..." he drawled finally with an evil leer, lazily tapping his cane against a tall black boot. "Seeing how officers of peace are oath-bound to keep peace between themselves as well as between other citizens, I would be terribly, *terribly* disappointed to find any of them having a row under my windows. Well?"

The two fellows that stood with their arms intertwined untangled themselves reluctantly; two sets of cold and hateful eyes promised each other another time and place.

"In the future, take better care to conduct yourselves in a manner appropriate to your station," said Javert, who did not miss this silent exchange between his subordinates. "If I witness any more such school-boy scenes, rest assured I will take on the temporary role of the school-master and break a few switches against your hides. Latour, your shift is not for another hour - we will chat then. You are dismissed. Amiot, Rocher, come with me."

He turned on his heels and walked back inside. One of the quarrellers, a tall lanky blond, stayed where he was; the others followed Javert.

"You are in luck today," announced Javert, as he latched the door behind his now sheepish lieutenants. "There is so much paperwork hanging on us that I shall deny myself the joy of scolding you." Both men were handed tall piles of bound texts and loose documents and directed to two writing stations set up at the desk. "Get to work."

Then he turned to Fantine and said, "And we are going to continue our little discussion downstairs. Sergeant, escort her down to cell 2A. I will follow you shortly."

The youthful sergeant, who was just coming up the stairs clutching the sheet with the requested notes on jailcell stoves and the noted disrepairs thereof, nodded and turned right back around, this time with a hapless, unresisting Fantine in tow. The lieutenants bent their heads low over their writing to conceal knowing smirks.

"I will ask you to keep perfectly quiet while I'm gone - move your leg, Amiot," ordered Javert, opening and slamming shut the drawers of his desk irately. Then, having suddenly remembered, he pulled out from under his shirtsleeves a small bronze key that hung around his neck on a silk cord and unlocked quickly the heavy bottom drawer of the desk. There was not much inside, just a notebook with a worn blue cover and a couple of books. Javert pulled out the notebook and locked the drawer back up.

"God have mercy on your souls if I hear even a peep from above while I'm working," he murmured, tucking the key gingerly back under his shirt like a baptismal cross.

"Will be done, sir. Work comes first, I agree," nodded one of the lieutenants with a perfectly straight and serious mien. His colleague tittered and bit his lip.

Javert turned his head and aimed his leaden, soul-sucking gaze directly into Amiot's pupils.

"I hope you do, Amiot," murmured Javert almost kindly, holding the young man in place with his eyes like a cobra. "I hope you do. And to you, Rocher, I would suggest following your comrade's facetious, but useful advice and nurturing your interest in work rather than in the personal affairs of your superiors. Have a pleasant time, gentlemen."

With that, Javert stood up to his full height, yanked his coat from the back of his chair, and descended quickly into the darkness of the cellar. Lieutenant Amiot wiped the cold sweat off his brow and hid his badly shaking hands under the table. His friend clenched his teeth and scribbled on furiously, pretending to be oblivious.