Raoul's argument had stuck with Javert. Does the past really matter? Does the past affect the future, other than in the obvious ways? What if…no, the past is past, it doesn't matter any more. No, dwelling on what had already happened gets you absolutely nowhere. Learn from the past, and leave it behind. That's it. Don't cling to the have-beens, or you won't get the will-bes.
Two months passed by, and Nicole continued to be locked away. Neither Javert nor Chabouillet even heard a rumor of an attempted escape. One day in early January, Javert made an inspection of the jail. He stopped at Nicole's jail cell. She was sitting on her bed (which had a pathetic excuse for a mattress, it being perhaps an inch thick), leaning against the stone wall.
"I'm glad I don't have to be chasing after you again," said Javert. "It was a bit of a trouble."
"Well I'm glad I relieved you of the inconvenience," Nicole said. "More time to see your love now that you're not looking for me, hmm?"
"No!" exclaimed Javert, startled. He began to walk away, but Nicole stopped him.
"Wait, I'm sorry," she said. "That was mean of me. But I'd really like to know. That is, I understand that I'm just a lowly criminal, but can't you admit what you're thinking to at least one person? It's not good to lock things up inside yourself. If you do, it just festers inside yourself. Please, understand, I want to get to know you more. I don't know you very well, and I want to change that."
"You said it yourself. You are a criminal; I am an officer of the government. With me trying to keep you locked up, there's no reason for me to just let you know everything about me," he said. "So just let it go, all right? I don't need or want to tell you anything."
"Can't you just tell me one thing about yourself? I won't mock you about it, I swear."
"That's not the issue." Seeing that she would persist in querying him, he said, "But, depending on what you want to know, I may be able to tell you."
"Just tell me one thing. Have you ever been in love? You don't even need to tell me if it's a past or present thing, just if you have."
Javert shook his head disapprovingly. "Why are you so damned curious?" he asked, then left. Seeing his expression as he left, an officer ran to Nicole's cell. Nicole had crossed her arms and closed her eyes, smiling.
"What'd you make him say?" asked the officer eagerly. "Tell all, tell all."
Nicole slowly opened her eyes, the smile fading away. "Oh, nothing, she said happily. "I think I'll get him. Actually, I'm sure of it."
"I don't know, Nicole," he said. "Javert…he's a tough nut to crack. From what I know of him, he'd never help a criminal to escape the long arm of the law, no matter how pretty the prisoner may be."
"But if he falls in love with her? What then?"
Javert was exceedingly uncomfortable. M. Chabouillet had put together a dinner for some of the higher ranked officers, and he had brought his very pretty, very arrogant wife Mme. Chabouillet along. Currently she was talking to one of the officers, blatantly flirting with him. It amazed Javert that she could be as impudent as to do that in front of her husband.
As Mme. was talking, she paused and noticed Javert, who had chosen to back away hidden and unnoticed into a corner of the room. He would much rather be patrolling, or even doing guard duty at the jail. But, to his horror, he saw Mme. walking towards him.
She stood in front of him and crossed her arms, not saying anything. A bit confused, he bowed slightly and said, "Madame."
"You are Inspector Philippe," she said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Javert bowed again slightly. "Inspector Javert, at your service," he said, emphasizing the 'Javert'. He did not appreciate anyone referring to him by his first name.
She held out her hand to shake his. "Nice to meet you," she said. He shook her hand. She gripped his hand tightly, and when he released her hand, there was a key in his. He looked at her quizzically.
In response to his look, she leaned towards him and said in a hushed voice, "Hôtel de Ville. Meet me at 11. Room 104. I'll be alone, never fear."
Javert backed away, but hit the wall. "Ah, Madame, I, ah, could never do that," he said nervously. "Ah, I'm sorry; I have to go, madam. I'm sorry."
He hastily moved to the side and headed towards the door. M. Chabouillet, seeing him leaving, called, "Leaving so soon, Javert? Dinner hasn't even begun."
His hand on the doorknob, Javert turned to Chabouillet and said, "I apologize, but I just remembered that I have a meeting with someone. Sorry for forgetting."
Then, to the slight confusion of Chabouillet, Javert bent to the ground and appeared to put something there. Once done, he stood up, nodded his head to the group, and left.
"Well, that was strange," said Mme. Chabouillet, coming up behind M. Chabouillet. "It seems like he was hiding something." She walked to the door and, feigning complete surprise, bent down and picked up a key. "Oh, look at this! It's a key! And it says 104 on it. Isn't that our room number?" she asked, turning to Chabouillet.
'Why, yes, it is," he said. He took the key from her and looked at it closely, than checked his pocket. Not finding it at first, he began to frantically pat all his pockets to see if his key was there. Finally he looked up at all the officers, who were watching him, then looked at the key.
A moment passed, and they all looked at the door that Javert had just left from. "I think I need to talk to Javert for a second," said Chabouillet. "Excuse me for…a second."
With that, he left. The officers all looked at each other. The same thing was going through all their minds: Javert?! It was unimaginable. Mme. Chabouillet simply smiled.
Javert walked quickly out of the building and looked around to find a fiacre. There were done in sight, so he began to walk back to his flat.
Then he heard a voice behind him. "Javert!" said Chabouillet. Javert spun around.
"Monsieur!" he said. "What is it you want to ask?"
Chabouillet paused. "Well, I wanted to know if you took this from me." He held up the key.
Javert started at seeing the key. "No, I didn't take it from you. I'm sorry, but why are you asking me this in the first place?"
"Well, after you left, I found this key by the door, the key that is, incidentally, the one that leads to the room where my wife is staying. When I found it, I discovered that my own key had gone missing." He looked at Javert pointedly.
"I can't imagine how that happened," said Javert blandly.
Chabouillet sighed. "Javert, I'm going to have to put you on probation," he said. "I know that's unpleasant for you, but right now that's the best thing I can do."
For a second it looked as if Javert would talk back to Chabouillet to defend himself. But then he gave a smile, nodded, and said, "As you wish, monsieur."
"Yes, yes," said Chabouillet distractedly. "Good day, Javert."
A note the next day informed Javert that he would be unable to return to the station for a week. This was a huge blow to him—there was nothing he'd rather be doing than being an officer. So, in the spare time that he had gotten, he devoted himself to discovering more about the man who had threatened him; the man who had called himself Panchaud. He was surprised nothing had come up yet—it seemed like a man like that would be fairly busy. But then again, at the moment Javert didn't have the same resources that he usually did.
So he attempted to pass the time so he wouldn't be bored. Then on his last day of probation, someone came knocking on his apartment door.
Javert walked slowly to his door, and opened it about a foot. There stood Mme. Chabouillet. She was dressed demurely in a long cloak, with a hood over her striking blond hair. When Javert opened the door, she pushed past him into his apartment. She looked around—there wasn't much to see—a bed, a small desk—there were no personal items or anything on his desk or lying around. It could've been a hotel room.
She turned to Javert and said, "I had to ask you something. Why didn't you take the key I gave you?"
"Because that seemed dishonorable to M. Chabouillet," said Javert. "I assumed he didn't know about it. And I saw no reason for me to go. Do you see?"
"Yes, I understand," she said. "But why didn't you tell me so? It's not nice to keep a lady waiting."
"I am sorry, but I assumed you knew I wouldn't be coming—I did leave the key behind. After all, that's why I'm on probation now."
"Hmm, that is a shame," she cooed. "You could have come to see me. I was bored too, stuck in this dreadful city. I could've given you things to do."
Javert crossed his arms. "I never said I didn't have something to do," he said, refusing to accept the implications of Mme. Chabouillet's words.
"Why aren't you married, Philippe?" asked Mme. Chabouillet, switching tacks.
Why is everyone interested in my love life? Though Javert, but he said stiffly, "That is none of your business, madam. And please call me Javert. No one refers to me by my first name."
"But Philippe is such a nice name!" she exclaimed. "You should use it more often, Philippe."
"PLEASE do not call me that! It implies familiarity." He fairly spat the word out.
"Why do you have such animosity towards friendship? Everyone needs a friend once in a while."
"No, they don't. Having a friend is as bad as having an enemy. You reveal the vulnerable side of yourself that no one should know. Friends can hurt you much more than anyone else can. No, I don't need a friend. I don't want a friend. They're useless and pointless."
Poor Javert, having lived his life sans true friendship or any relationship in general. Please review, and maybe I'll be a little nicer to him! Merci!