The next day at the prefecture, Javert went straight away to file a report. In talking to Panchaud yesterday, he was sure he discovered this man's true identity. 'I have serious doubts,' he wrote to Chabouillet, 'about the officer Benoit Perot. I have good reason to believe he may be one of the characters we discussed earlier.' They had talked about the officers who were double crossing them through various means.

But Chabouillet's response was not one Javert expected. He called Javert into his office soon after he got Javert's note. The tone of these meeting was much colder than any he had ever experienced with Chabouillet before, and he was frowning as Javert came in and sat down.

"Inspector," he said, "I just read your note. Please explain yourself a bit more. After all, Sergeant Perot is a respected and adept officer of the law."

"He has certain…mannerisms around the convicts," said Javert. "Normally I wouldn't suspect anyone based on a small matter like that, but there's more. I've seen him in deep conversation with Nicole and…"

Chabouillet coughed loudly, interrupting him. "Ahem, Benoit is a man, and Nicole is a woman," he said. "As such, Benoit may have other things in mind than the aiding and freeing of Nicole when he speaks to her."

"Monsieur!" exclaimed Javert. "No self-respecting law protector would do that. You said yourself that Benoit was respectable, so that doesn't follow though. And, once again, that is not all my evidence. I have reason to believe that he goes around Paris under the infamous name of Panchaud. I saw this 'Panchaud' just yesterday, and I'm sure they're the same person. He put on a wig and is trying to act differently, but I would tell by his voice that it was him."

"Come now, Inspector!" Chabouillet laughed. "Surely you're overexaggerating. Benoit cannot be convicted under any of these reasons. Drop your case."

In a back room, Benoit changed out of his Panchaud costume and sat on chair, getting back to his officer personality and clothes. Once in a while it was hard not to revert to his criminal mind, and occasionally spoke harshly. It always surprised people, for Benoit the officer was always jovial and laughing. He had put on this persona to distract people even more from any similarities he may have forgotten to cover up. Nicole hadn't even noticed—that surprised him, but he was grateful for it. She had changed a lot, and there was no telling what would happen if she found out.

He didn't understand what had changed Nicole so much. Before, she had regarded the law as a joke, not something that really mattered. But recently she had been preaching a bit more on the righteousness of the law. What had happened?

At the end of Javert and Chabouillet's conversation, Javert was informed that this would be his last day of guard duty at the prison—the next day he would be back patrolling the streets. That was a huge relief—while on duty, the other officers would always try to engage in conversation with him, and it was always inane topics.

So, thinking, on the happy thought that he was almost done with this tedious task, Javert walked purposefully towards the cells. When he got there, he saw Benoit at Nicole's cell, as usual. When Benoit saw Javert, he slipped away from the cell and went to the end of the hallway.

Javert ignored him and looked in on the prisoners. Some were sleeping on their stone beds, others were staring off into the distance, and some stared at Javert, with expressions varying from boredom to anger. You simply have to see these people, he thought, to understand why we need jails. And these are just the women!

When he got to Nicole's cell, he heard her say, "Where did you grow up? I mean, where did you live as a child?"

Javert stopped. She never failed to surprise him with her questions. "Why, I grew up in Paris," he said. He usually didn't mind Nicole's inquiries—with rare exceptions, they tended to be fairly innocuous.

"Where in Paris?"

He looked away. "Saint Rochelle," he said. He was ashamed to have lived in such a criminal area. But then he hastened to add, "But it was much better then."

"Not really," said Nicole. "I remember it a bit from when I was younger."

"You grew up there?"

"No, but when I lived in Paris I was there a few times. I think I saw you there. And I know…what was her name? Oh yes, it was Rose. She had blond hair, right?" She laughed. "And she's exactly my age. I could be her!" She laughed again.

"Except you look nothing like her!" Javert barked, almost angry, and walked away. In truth, when Nicole had said that, he had thought that she did look remarkably like Rose. But why had she said that? Their looks weren't that similar—Nicole had brown hair, Rose's was blonde, and their figures weren't exactly the same. But then he looked Nicole in the eyes, her green eyes had had the same look Rose had when she looked at the man who ad put his arm around her waist and drawn her close.

After Javert left the corridor where Nicole was, Benoit came back to her cell. Before Javert came, Benoit had said that he was going to compose a love poem on the spot. So, when he got back to Nicole, he said, "Ma chere, I've got a poem. Would you like to hear it?"

"Very well," said Nicole with mock disdain.

Benoit smiled, and began:

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May

"And summer's lease hath all to short a date.

"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines

"And often is his gold complexion dimm'd

"And every fair from fair sometime declines

"By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd.

"But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

"Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest.

"Not shalt death brag, thou wandr'st in his shade.

"When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

"So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Nicole sighed. "Wow," she said. "You made that up on the spot?"

"Well, not on the spot," laughed Benoit. "It involved a bit of thought."

"That's amazing," she said. "It sounded just like William Shakespeare. Sonnet 18, isn't it? Don't take credit for something that isn't yours."

Benoit gave an easy laugh. "You caught me, mon cherie," he said. "When I read that poem though, it fit you perfectly. You are far better than any summer's day."

"My, what a courtier!" Nicole laughed. "All of this profession of undying love and such. It doesn't really mean anything. It's all fun and games, so to speak."

"Ma couer! Oh, that hurts!"
"People that constantly speak of love have never felt it."

"And people that don't, do?"

"Some."

"Most especially if they're police inspectors…"

Nicole laughed. "Maybe!"

"Well, I'm almost an inspector."

"But you're not one—why does it matter?"

Benoit made a noise of irritation. "Why does it matter? Ugh."

So that night, 'Panchaud' made another visit to Javert.

That night when Javert went to his flat, his apartment door was open. That was quite unusual—he usually made sure to take care of things like that. When he walked over the threshold, someone jumped on him from behind and almost knocked him over, but Javert managed to knock the person off and spin around. Naturally it was Panchaud. Javert tried to take out his pistol, but Panchaud was faster, and held his own gun directly at Javert's face.

"What do you think you've been doing?" said Panchaud.

"I don't know what you mean," Javert said calmly.

"I better never see you on guard duty again."

"On guard duty? In the women's jail, I assume you mean. What were you doing there, 'Panchaud'?"

"You fool. The only reason you're still alive is because of my kindness. Don't test it. If you do, Nicole will be exterminated."

"But she's your 'sister', Panchaud."

Panchaud cocked his pistol. "Don't try to play mind games, 'Inspector'. You don't want to be on my bad side."

"I believe I already am."

"Watch your tongue, Javert," he said, spitting out each word.

"Such animosity towards your superiors, Benoit," said Javert reprovingly, than he gave a barking laugh. "Oh, I mean, 'Panchaud'. My mistake."

Panchaud managed to stop from starting in surprise, and contented himself with staring at Javert in disbelief. How could he have guessed his secret? It was impossible! Maybe he should just kill Javert now. It would solve many problems, at least, though it would cause many more.

He sufficed with saying to Javert, "Who is this 'Benoit'? Who's he? I've never heard of him." He laughed.

"That's funny," said Javert musingly, "because I distinctly remember him talking about you." He obviously had never done such a thing; he had never discussed Panchaud with anyone except M. Chabouillet, but he wanted to see Panchaud's reaction. Panchaud remained impassive. "Yes, Benoit was quite loquacious about you. It sounded like he'd talked to you before."

"That never happened!" said Benoit/Panchaud indignantly. Then he stopped. He had practically given away his cover! "I mean, I think I would've remembered talking to an officer of the law. I mean, of course I would have!"

Javert sighed and walked to the door, followed by Panchaud. "Ah, Panchaud," he said. "You're not a very good criminal, just like Benoit isn't a very good policeman. Both are simply…adequate. That's rather sad, isn't it? I mean, if Benoit is indeed you," he laughed, "I can't imagine how he's managed to get way with that for so long. Ah, well. Won't last for long, so I suppose it's best that you're not him."

He was bluffing, but Panchaud couldn't tell, and he started to fluster a bit. "What…do you mean? I'm sure Benoit is fine," he said. "Sure…surely you're bluffing."

Javert smiled. "Oh, don't worry about him," he said. "After all, you're not Benoit, are you?" Panchaud gave him a murderous look, and began to speak…

Wow, I have a habit of leaving these Javert-Panchaud conversations unfinished. They all will be though, at a later date. Really! Anyway, review and make me happy!