Author's Note: If this reads a bit differently than usual, you can blame James Joyce. I have been studiously re-reading "Ulysses" for the past couple of weeks.
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"That'll do, Sergeant," murmured Javert, rustling with the sheets of his notebook and making small notes here and there. "It's going, I can hear it."
The young man, his cheeks puffed out to blow into the stove again, breathed out softly and laid back down the two resin-tipped kindling sticks he was about to add to the small pyre. Fantine watched him from the narrow metal bed, shivering. He smiled a crooked, mirthless smile at her thin and uncomely form, ashamed of her and ashamed of himself for feeling ashamed. Not her fault after all. Hunger. Destitution. Probably an orphan too, homeless and hearthless.
"Finish up and come out into the hallway with me for a quick moment," rumbled a deep, knowing baritone right into him, tickling his ear with warm breath. With a sudden tightening in his belly, the young man stood up, closed the grate (taking care not to jar it too much, lest it fall out of the top hinge again), gave the unsmiling miss on the bed a guilty little nod of goodbyefornow, and followed his captain into the draughty corridor.
He was half-anticipating a rebuke for making eyes at the detained lady, but heard something else instead.
"Go back upstairs now and keep an eye on the fellows. The text is on the desk, where Amiot is now sitting. I want you to have the next chapter read by the time I'm back. If Latour shows his face before his shift again, make it plain to him that he'd be best off not stirring up trouble while I'm on the premises. Understood? Good lad. Now," continued Javert in a slightly more relaxed tone, "until I come back up, I don't want to hear a peep from you lot. No singing of arias, no dancing of the cotillion. I want absolute quiet. Do not come to see me if you have questions. You are permitted to seek me out in case of emergencies, but even so, don't do it. If I see you down here, it better be something good. The Savior has returned ahead of schedule and turned the town water supply into absinthe; swarms of devils with red-hot pitchforks are chasing elderly matrons up and down the mainstreet; there is a lightningstorm and it's raining gunpowder; Monsieur the Mayor has been cursed by Gypsies into a brown toad with warts. Unless you have news of this sort of proportions, don't show yourself and don't let anyone else come down either. Am I making myself clear?"
"Plain as grass, sir," answered the sergeant, fixing his eyes glumly on the gleaming bronze top button of Javert's stiff collar.
"You are not pleased with something. What is it?" demanded Javert.
Strained pause and ominous crackling of wall torches. They've seen that much and worse. Shall I answer him straight?
"Sir, I don't mean to question your integrity, sir..." But he couldn't continue. His tongue simply wouldn't turn to make the shaming accusation to such a perfect officer, and to his face no less. The sergeant took a deep breath to collect himself, lifted his eyes bravely to meet the captain's, and saw that the gray gaze measuring him was not unkind.
"At ease, sergeant," said Javert, with a crooked smirk. "Rest assured that my intentions towards the prisoner are not contrary to any prescribed procedures. I give you my word as a man and an officer of the law."
"Sir, I apologize, I shouldn't have..." Sheen of shamed sweat on the brow.
"No apologies. You are right to be suspicious." Javert sighed and shook his head slightly. "It would be a grave mistake to assume that everyone who stands above you on the social ladder is your moral superior, or even your equal. Most often it is just the other way around. A cad can squirm into many a high place, all that's needed is money, connections... or fraud."
Javert's tones became chillier and chillier; now he was speaking almost through his teeth. His eyes squinted intently at some unknown point on the opposite wall; the left corner of his thin mouth started to crawl slowly downwards and sideways, exposing large, yellowish teeth. The sergeant felt his skin crawl at the sight. Only the rational realization that the captain's silent fury couldn't possibly be addressed at him kept him from bolting.
Catching himself, Javert closed his eyes for a brief moment, squeezed his jaws shut, then unlocked them again. The tension on his face dissolved, leaving weariness in its stead. "No one is infallible, kid," he said softly and bitterly. "Man is a weak, nasty, brutish beast, and coming into money rarely improves his moral character. Ever less so with positions of public trust. Consider this a lesson for the future. Now run upstairs and don't worry about the lady. What's left of her honor is quite safe with me."
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"That'll do, Sergeant," murmured Javert, rustling with the sheets of his notebook and making small notes here and there. "It's going, I can hear it."
The young man, his cheeks puffed out to blow into the stove again, breathed out softly and laid back down the two resin-tipped kindling sticks he was about to add to the small pyre. Fantine watched him from the narrow metal bed, shivering. He smiled a crooked, mirthless smile at her thin and uncomely form, ashamed of her and ashamed of himself for feeling ashamed. Not her fault after all. Hunger. Destitution. Probably an orphan too, homeless and hearthless.
"Finish up and come out into the hallway with me for a quick moment," rumbled a deep, knowing baritone right into him, tickling his ear with warm breath. With a sudden tightening in his belly, the young man stood up, closed the grate (taking care not to jar it too much, lest it fall out of the top hinge again), gave the unsmiling miss on the bed a guilty little nod of goodbyefornow, and followed his captain into the draughty corridor.
He was half-anticipating a rebuke for making eyes at the detained lady, but heard something else instead.
"Go back upstairs now and keep an eye on the fellows. The text is on the desk, where Amiot is now sitting. I want you to have the next chapter read by the time I'm back. If Latour shows his face before his shift again, make it plain to him that he'd be best off not stirring up trouble while I'm on the premises. Understood? Good lad. Now," continued Javert in a slightly more relaxed tone, "until I come back up, I don't want to hear a peep from you lot. No singing of arias, no dancing of the cotillion. I want absolute quiet. Do not come to see me if you have questions. You are permitted to seek me out in case of emergencies, but even so, don't do it. If I see you down here, it better be something good. The Savior has returned ahead of schedule and turned the town water supply into absinthe; swarms of devils with red-hot pitchforks are chasing elderly matrons up and down the mainstreet; there is a lightningstorm and it's raining gunpowder; Monsieur the Mayor has been cursed by Gypsies into a brown toad with warts. Unless you have news of this sort of proportions, don't show yourself and don't let anyone else come down either. Am I making myself clear?"
"Plain as grass, sir," answered the sergeant, fixing his eyes glumly on the gleaming bronze top button of Javert's stiff collar.
"You are not pleased with something. What is it?" demanded Javert.
Strained pause and ominous crackling of wall torches. They've seen that much and worse. Shall I answer him straight?
"Sir, I don't mean to question your integrity, sir..." But he couldn't continue. His tongue simply wouldn't turn to make the shaming accusation to such a perfect officer, and to his face no less. The sergeant took a deep breath to collect himself, lifted his eyes bravely to meet the captain's, and saw that the gray gaze measuring him was not unkind.
"At ease, sergeant," said Javert, with a crooked smirk. "Rest assured that my intentions towards the prisoner are not contrary to any prescribed procedures. I give you my word as a man and an officer of the law."
"Sir, I apologize, I shouldn't have..." Sheen of shamed sweat on the brow.
"No apologies. You are right to be suspicious." Javert sighed and shook his head slightly. "It would be a grave mistake to assume that everyone who stands above you on the social ladder is your moral superior, or even your equal. Most often it is just the other way around. A cad can squirm into many a high place, all that's needed is money, connections... or fraud."
Javert's tones became chillier and chillier; now he was speaking almost through his teeth. His eyes squinted intently at some unknown point on the opposite wall; the left corner of his thin mouth started to crawl slowly downwards and sideways, exposing large, yellowish teeth. The sergeant felt his skin crawl at the sight. Only the rational realization that the captain's silent fury couldn't possibly be addressed at him kept him from bolting.
Catching himself, Javert closed his eyes for a brief moment, squeezed his jaws shut, then unlocked them again. The tension on his face dissolved, leaving weariness in its stead. "No one is infallible, kid," he said softly and bitterly. "Man is a weak, nasty, brutish beast, and coming into money rarely improves his moral character. Ever less so with positions of public trust. Consider this a lesson for the future. Now run upstairs and don't worry about the lady. What's left of her honor is quite safe with me."