For several moments neither man spoke. Madeleine, in an effort to conceal his shock, left the desk and occupied himself with stirring the fire. He was deeply absorbed in his thoughts and for a while did not seem conscious of Javert, who stood patient and attentive.
When Madeleine finally answered, his tone was mild, vaguely amused. "You say that as though I am some sort of mystery to you."
"You are. Not what I once guessed, so wrongly –but you are not what they think." These last words were pronounced with a bitterness that left no doubt of his meaning. Javert was one of the few individuals who remained entirely free of the town's almost contagious adoration of the mayor. Despite the discovery of the real Jean Valjean, in Javert's mind, he could not shake his inherent distrust of Madeleine. It seemed to him that a man did not need to be a convict to be a swindler; his veneration of authority did not blind him to the abuse of it. He had seen enough lawful corruption in his time to recognize those, like Madeleine, who fraudulently usurp respect from honest citizens. That, at least, is what he believed.
Madeleine, having assumed a very calm and natural air, turned back to Javert. "Well, go on then." He made a slight motion for Javert to continue as he returned to his desk. "You may ask of me what you want." To demonstrate his lack of interest in the discussion, Madeleine distracted himself with some papers, which he treated with great attention.
This show of indifference might have discouraged a man less sure than Javert, but he knew too well to be fooled. He was smiling then, but it was not the sort of look intended to put one at ease; there was such an appearance of contented cruelty in that expression that it became a snarl.
"Forgive me if I am distrustful; it is the nature of my profession –" he caught himself immediately, " –that is to say, of my former profession, to be hesitant to take a man at his word. Therefore, do not be offended by what I must require of you."
"What is that?" Madeleine was making notes on a sheet of paper and did not look up from his work.
"I know that you are a religious man, M. le maire; and genuinely, I do not doubt it. I have great respect for any man who is truly devout. Such a man would not perjure himself. It is for this fortunate reason that I may have confidence in your answer, if you will give your oath, now, on the Bible."
At this, Madeleine's peaceful exterior began to falter. "Indeed, Javert! That should not offend me – that I, a magistrate, should give sworn testimony to you, an inferior! Would you try me like a culprit, then, with yourself the judge? Why should I submit to your insolent suspicion any longer? I've had quite enough of it already!"
Javert sighed, and answered calmly: "M. le maire, I am no longer your inferior officer; you would do well to remember that. That being so, I am under no obligation to perform favors for you, and certainly I will not as long as I have any doubts about your character. Indeed, an honest man does not shrink from the truth! That is what I know. There, I have given you my terms."
It was impossible to refuse; to do so would only provoke Javert's suspicion further, and then there was the matter of Cosette. Yet Madeleine did not think he could perjure himself. No lie was worth the cost of his soul. The trap was well laid, he thought miserably.
In fact it was convenient for Javert that the mayor was a religious man, as there was no difficulty in obtaining the bible on which he would swear his oath. He resignedly took the well-worn book from its drawer and solemnly gave his oath upon it. Javert had remained standing the entire time; now, feeling more confident with the course of the discussion, he took a seat before the mayor's desk. Madeleine, looking less calm, followed suit, and watched uneasily as Javert produced several sheets of paper which appeared to contain extensive notes. Thus he began his interrogation.
"Where were you born?"
"Faverolles."
"Did you at one time secretly request information on missing families in Faverolles?"
"Yes."
"What was your purpose?"
"To locate certain individuals I knew there."
"Of what relation to you?"
"My sister and her children."
"Did you find them?"
The mayor's voice expressed no emotion. "I did not."
"What was your profession before you came to Montreuil-sur-mer?"
A pause. "I was a tree pruner."
"Why did you come to this town?"
"I had not intended to remain here at first. I was passing through."
"Montreuil-sur-mer was not your original destination?"
"No."
"What was your destination?"
"Pontarlier."
"Yet you left from Faverolles?" There was a trace of either doubt or confusion in the question.
"No."
"Then, where?"
Another, longer pause."In fact, it was Toulon."
This time Javert hesitated. "I see."
Then, quietly, as if to himself: "Yet we are some four hundred miles north of Pontarlier, at least." He continued, addressing Madeleine: "You say you left Toulon, with Pontarlier as your destination, yet you found yourself 'passing though' Montreuil-sur-mer, which happens to be on the wrong side of the country?"
Madeleine was increasingly losing his semblance of tranquility. "I think – as it was so long ago, you see – it is possible I have misremembered some of the facts."
"Bear in mind you are under oath, and do well not to 'misremember' any more of your answers." Madeleine felt his face flush at the condescending words. To be spoken to this way by a previous subordinate was a hard blow to his pride. Javert, he mused, would have made a terribly effective prosecuting attorney.
"Some time ago, you wore a mourning crêpe in your hat; some people said it was in connection with the late bishop of Digne. Is that true?"
"It is."
"What was your relation to Monseigneur the bishop?"
"I had met him once when I was traveling. He offered me lodging and hospitality."
"Then you were not employed to his family as a servant, in your youth, as you had first said?"
Madeleine was taken aback. How could Javert know everything?
"No, I was not." He answered softly, incredulous.
"You met him on the road from Toulon?"
"Yes."
"And what was your business in Toulon?"
Madeleine studied Javert carefully, trying to see if there was not some suspicion behind the serious and honest face. He got nothing for his efforts.
"I was a laborer." He answered guardedly.
Still Javert's face showed no sign of either suspicion or astonishment. Several moments passed while he seemed to collect his thoughts. Then,
"Is Madeleine your true name?"
"No."
He again met Javert's gaze, and this time what he saw there made him shudder. For a moment there appeared to be a flicker of dreadful realization in his eyes, which almost immediately vanished. Javert's face was again that of an impassive judge.
The obvious question hung in the air, unspoken. It was as though Javert avoided it purposely. If Madeleine understood this, he could not have explained it, and did not care to; he only prayed that he would never hear that question pronounced, knowing that he could do nothing but answer it truthfully. Still the silence was agony for him.
"Is that all, Javert?"
He did not answer.
"Is there something else you wish to ask me?"
Javert regarded him darkly, a look that was a warning, and still he did not answer.
A sudden loud knock at the door made both of them jump. "What is it?" Madeleine asked anxiously.
"M. le maire," it was the voice of one of the servants. "Forgive me, but there is a matter that requires your immediate attention."
"Enter, then."
The door opened, the flushed face of a young woman appeared. "Pardon, monsieur," she said hastily, glancing at Javert, and her flush deepened.
"What is the matter?"
"It's Mlle. Fantine. She is asking for you."
"I'll visit her soon. First I have to prepare some instructions for M. Javert."
"But, monsieur! I don't think it can wait. Won't you go to her right away?"
Understanding hit him like a blow. He put aside his own selfish fear, forgetting Javert in front of him, forgetting what had just happened. He left without a word.
Javert remained alone in the office, very preoccupied with his thoughts. After a few minutes he quietly left.