Author's note: I love reviewers! I shall take all your considerations into account. Thank you for your support. Here's Chapter 4 you.
When Javert had gotten back to the prefecture, he was put on guard duty, to show that all was not forgiven, ostensibly. So he went back under the scrutiny of Nicole. She continued to try and have him soften to her, but he continued in his brusque manner towards her. However, he became slightly more polite to her, and Nicole took that as a victory. After all, Javert usually treated prisoners with disdain and an element of disgust.
One day Nicole was discussing Javert with Benoit (one of the guards). "Nicole, ma coeur, I have a story you'd like to hear about Javert," Benoit said.
"Do tell," Nicole said lazily, lying back in her bed and closing her eyes, ready to listen.
"Well, when our Javert was a young man, he fell in love," he said. "I know, it's Javert. It doesn't sound possible, but I'm almost positive that it's true."
Nicole had sat straight up. "Just go on," she said.
He smiled. "As you wish," he said. "Well, anyway, this love was the daughter of a wealthy man. And Javert…well, he didn't come from the best of families. He also didn't tell her of his feelings, so she never knew, and she ignored him. I think that's why he doesn't really have any friends or lovers—he doesn't trust people to be kind."
"Poor man," said Nicole quietly, though she imagined that an unrequited love was not the only reason for that.
He laughed and stretched. "Not really," he said. "I mean, just because one broad turned him down doesn't mean he should give up on the human race. I mean, no one has it easy. He shouldn't simply assume that everyone is like that. And anyway, you don't work with him. He doesn't have casual conversations with anyone. It's always only what needs to be said, and that's all. It's not like you're talking to a person, it's like you're talking to the law. Or at least, a human version of the law. He's closed in on himself, and lost himself in the law. He's practically not human—he can't be pitied."
"How can you say that?" Nicole cried, and stood up. "You say you can't pity Javert? You can't pity someone who was in the throes of unrequited love? You said yourself that it happens to everyone—then can't you understand his situation? Where is your pathos?"
"But everyone gets over it. He hasn't, apparently. And now he judges everyone by that old, biased standard. That's why I don't pity him. It's impossible to do so."
About an hour later, Javert made his round past Nicole's cell. He had prepared himself for the inevitable bizarre comment, but what Nicole said surprised him, as she seemed to be so adept at doing. "Who is she?" she asked.
He stared at her. "What?" he asked, honestly confused.
"Her name, I mean."
"I truly have no idea what you're talking about."
"Never mind; doesn't matter."
Javert shrugged. "Fine," she said, and began to walk away before Nicole stopped him.
"Inspector," she said. That surprised him: regardless of his insistence, she had always referred to him as Javert. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"
He shook his head. "Have you gone mad or something?" he said. "Why are being so obscure? What are you talking about?"
"Inspector: I know."
"Is that so?"
"I heard about you and that girl."
Javert gave a harsh laugh, more of a bark than anything else. "You forget who you are talking to, woman," he said. "I am not one of those men. You know not to whom you speak."
"I heard a story about your childhood recently," said Nicole. "Well, not exactly your childhood…anyway, I heard you were in love with a woman who didn't love you, which was silly of her, don't you think?"
Javert stood stock still, staring at Nicole. When she asked the question, he looked away and pretended like there was something very interesting on the wall. "What are you trying to accomplish by saying this to me?" he said through clenched teeth. "Are you trying to blackmail me or something, you blackguard?"
"No! You misunderstand me!" said Nicole hastily. "I wanted you to know that it's not a secret." She paused. "Wait, you don't deny it?"
Javert shrugged. "If I did deny it, would you believe me? Anyway, I don't need to explain myself to you. I mean, look at yourself. You're a convict. You're behind bars, and you're not getting out. You cannot say that Rose was better than me, because you are no better than I. In fact, you're much worse." Then he stopped. He had said her name!
Nicole smiled. "Rose, is it?" she said. "That's a lovely name? Though your train of thought was rather odd, I'm glad you know this. Tell me about her. Where did you meet her? What did she look like? Come on, tell me. I won't say anything to anyone, I promise."
By now Javert was seething with anger. "You are a prisoner! A convict! I do not have these conversations with you. Not with you, not with anyone." He stomped away.
As Nicole expected, Benoit came over to her right after Javert left that hall. However, he looked unusually thoughtful. "I heard what you two were saying to each other. Javert was yelling loud enough for that," he said. "But that's not all. He said the name 'Rose', right?" Nicole nodded. "I'm almost positive I know who he was talking about. He grew up in Paris, I know, and the bouton de rose of gay Paree was well known—infamous, in fact. Many called her the most beautiful woman in France."
"Wait, why the past tense?" asked Nicole.
"I'm getting to that! So anyway, to see her was to love her, so I'm not surprised Javert liked her. And I think she was only a little younger than him, so she would be about 25 now. It's a funny thought. Anyway, she probably didn't even know who Javert was. But he never even got a chance, just like everyone else. When she was 18, Rose was kidnapped—by the gypsies, most believe. Everyone was looking for her, but she's disappeared. I think she's probably dead. I mean, I had met her before—she wasn't very nice."
"A cold beauty, as it were?"
"Exactly."
Nicole laughed. "Rose seems like a lucky woman," she said. I can't imagine why she would be cold."
Benoit looked at her thoughtfully. "Really? You remind me of her."
"I don't know why that might be," Nicole said evasively.
Before Javert left for the night, he was leaving a mandatory note for M. Chabouillet when he heard the other officers talking in the other room. Initially he ignored them, until he heard his name.
"And you know about Javert…" someone murmured.
"Do you think he knows…?"
"No. He wouldn't be able to hide it."
"I think Nicole is going to tell."
"What is her thing with him?"
"I think she feels bad about what she did."
Someone laughed. "Nicole? Ha, let me tell you a story about her."
Javert stood up before that person continued. He didn't need or want to hear anything about prisoners, and he didn't like that conversation in the first place. He pushed his chair in noisily, and the voices subsided. There were about six or seven officers in the next room, and they all pretended like they didn't notice him.
As Javert reached his flat, he pushed away the conversation he had heard, and attempted to think on the events of the day. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Panchaud watching him go in the apartment building.
Once in his room, Javert sat at his desk and gave a long sigh. Then he took out a piece of paper, and pen, and ink, and began to write. He had never kept a journal before, but lately writing down his thoughts had been a calming thing to do. He mostly wrote the things he had to do in the future (i.e. "November 4: I have to remember to go the bank tomorrow"), but occasionally he wrote about things that had been troubling him. Tonight he wrote about Rose, and how he had met her.
Rose's mother had taken her to a poor section of town to feed the people there. I usually avoided that sort of thing. I felt like it demeaned me. But that day I didn't know they would be coming, and I turned down the street where they were. Initially I didn't see Rose, but when I got closer, I thought I had seen an angel.
I walked up to her, to say something, anything, to her. When she saw him, she laughed and said, "Who do you think you are? You're old enough to work. Don't beg, go get a job."
I nodded my head slowly. "Oui, mademoiselle," I think I whispered, not saying that I was already in training to be an officer. With that, I walked away as fast as I could. After that, I would see Rose once in a while around Paris, but I never talked to her. Then one day I worked up the courage to say something to her. I started walking up to her, but at the last minute another man came up to her, said, "Rose," gently, and put his arm around her waist. She laughed and pulled away, but he put his arm around her waist again, and she didn't resist this time: in fact, she rested her head on his shoulder and said a soft word to him.
Seeing this, I stopped and stood stock still. Rose noticed me, and gave me a sarcastic smile. She mouthed the words, "Have a job yet?" I turned around stiffly and never looked for her again. I had heard stories about her—how she had a tattoo on her waist of a man's name (it was disputed who's name it was), that she was engaged, that she wasn't engaged—rumors flew around her like flies around a pot of honey.
Writing all this down transported Javert away from his room, and he almost didn't hear the knock on his door. He looked up, irritated. No one ever came to his apartment for good reasons. But he got up slowly and went to the door. When he opened it, the last person he expected to see there stood in his doorway: Panchaud.
Panchaud pulled Javert's door open and tried to push Javert over, but Javert managed to step aside. "What sort of game are you trying to pull now, Inspector?" said Panchaud, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Why is Nicole still in jail? Why is the police chief's wife coming to visit you? And why are you looking for information about me?"
Javert paused for a moment, than said impassively, "How do you know all these things about me?"
That is the question, isn't it? I'll try to update the next chapter with some expediency. It's written, I just need to type it up. Please review!