Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect or variation of Les Miserables. That genius belongs to Victor Hugo and all of those who followed.
Title: Reprieve
Summary: Sometimes life gives us a second chance, but are we too weak to take advantage of this gift? Javert had thought he would die; he had hoped he would die. However, it seemed that life had not finished with him just yet. How can he hope to make a new start with all that had transpired? Life has an answer to that, as well.
Author's Note: So that is all of Madame Loriel. She was just a short appearance to send Javert on the right track. As of right now, I do not see her reappearing in the future. As for Javert, now the real fun starts. This might be the beginning of where the story gets a little strange or questionable, but hang in there. As always, I open for comments, questions, concerns, advice, etc.
Chapter 3
- In the Jardin du Luxembourg
The streets of Paris had never seemed as foreign as they did right then. The people bustling by on the streets appeared more like ghouls patrolling their territory against a foreign entity. Javert could not help staring at them with wide nervous eyes and a defensive attitude. It wasn't that he hadn't been allowed to go out and walk the streets when staying at the tavern. He had just never had the desire to venture out. He had been quite content hiding away from the rest of the world.
Javert kept his head down and his eyes averted as he walked down the street, much like a repentant peasant. There was no doubt in his mind that he would go unrecognized, but he was still edgy and a bit nervous. He realized that the transformation had not only occurred for him physically, but it also showed through in his gait, his stance, even his aura.
At first, he was rather unprepared at how differently he was treated by the public. When he was inspector, the crowds would literally part in front of him like the Red Sea. Now it was impossible to avoid jamming his shoulder as he ran into the passersby. He was just another civilian wandering the streets of Paris. He was no longer special. He was just ordinary.
He walked aimlessly all morning, just attempting to put the most distance between that tavern and himself—Madame Loriel and the new Jori Cortelle. Just after noon, he wandered into the Jardin du Luxembourg to break into the provisions that Madame Loriel had supplied for him. The gardens were bustling due to the agreeable weather and temperature. It took him quite a while to actually find an unoccupied bench that he could enjoy his meager rations on.
He balanced the satchel on his lap and fumbled with untying the knot that held the whole parcel closed. He spread out the cloth and surveyed the contents. There was a secondary pair of clothes lining the inside of the kerchief, and rolled up inside of those was a loaf of bread, block of cheese, and an apple. It almost went unnoticed, but luckily the faded, worn crimson pattern of a small purse caught his eye, as well. He sighed to himself upon seeing this bit of kindness, but at the same time cursed Madame Loriel in his mind.
He broke off a small piece of bread and a bit of cheese that would fit snuggly into it and provide just enough flavor for the bare meal. While slowly consuming this hunk of bread, he sat quite peacefully watching the members of society stroll by.
Despite his reformation over the past months, there was still prejudice clouding the better part of his mind. It was easy to fall back into his old judgmental way of thinking when he was alone like this. The people walking by were well-dressed and of proper decorum. Still, a scowl marred his features, for all he could see was the embodiment of sin; yet he so desperately yearned to recognize the human beings for the people they truly were.
He was of the mind and the intent to fully commit to his new life. However, it did not quite come as naturally as he had hoped and was certainly difficult in the solitary situation he had placed himself in. He felt a similar separation sitting in the gardens. The quick glances his way and hurried steps past his bench were quite evidently the lovely society people's way of subtly showing their disapproval. He knew his much more humble outfit did not contest in any way with the dresses and suits he saw. It was interesting to experience life on the other side. He could not have foreseen the feelings that arose with those speculative glances. It wasn't just his wits and intelligence he had kept from his former life, but also his stubbornness and persistence. So, he would never allow anyone to see his reactions. The turmoil in his head was successfully masked by his stoic expression.
Javert was still people watching as he had been since first taking up occupancy on the bench. It was close to a half an hour after initially resting on the sculpted seat that he caught sight of a curious creature not so far in the distance. He sat up a little straighter, gripped the remaining butt of bread a little tighter, and turned all of his attention toward staring after this curiosity.
The women in the gardens were all sporting vibrant colors and patterns conducive to the season. Yet, there was one dark flower amongst all of the others. It was a young woman that Javert watched so intently. She stood out from the rest in a frock of the blackest material and the most conservative of styles. A dark bonnet concealed much of her head, but it wasn't able to disguise the coppery shine of the bundled up hair beneath it, or prevent the sun from bouncing off of it in beautiful gold. Her delicate pale facial features appeared porcelain with the distance and nothing less than lovely. Her form, her posture revealed wonders of her strict and proper upbringing, as well as her discipline. However, it was when she turned her large, doe-like sapphire eyes in his direction, as if she had heard his heart calling to her, that his breath actually caught in his throat.
She appeared alone in the lane across the lawn, but lingered as if waiting for a companion to arrive. Her hands were folded ever so gracefully in front of her, whilst her fingers seemed to impatiently pull at one another. It impressed upon him a mechanical twitching because she stared as if wholly absorbed in thought, her eyes never resting on one thing for too long and certainly never seeing. It was impressive, Javert thought, at how, even at such a distance, he was capable of reading her. That used to be his line of work, after all.
Through the roaming pedestrians a young man made himself known. He strode forward, seemingly at a brisk pace, eagerly toward the young woman. It was a matter of seconds before the young woman noticed his presence, but she instantly looked relieved. He took up her little hands in his in a protective and loving manner.
It was impossible for Javert to hear the exchange that began to take place, yet he found himself on the edge of his seat and leaning forward in a poor attempt to try to overhear. He could not say that he was disgusted by this female, as he was to some degree by all in the same gender. In a strange new way, unfelt by him in all of his years, he found a curious attraction to this stranger. He was quite pleased by the mannerisms which he saw—the propriety and distinguished way in which she held herself. He found her person quite agreeable without ever having met her. She appeared to epitomize the ideal woman in Javert's mind. As he thought along the lines of society, or at least used to, it could therefore be said that he believed her to be the truest form of the modern day society. In fact, it was in this idea that the allure was drawn.
He had barely looked twice at the young man, since the presence of the young woman completely overshadowed him, in Javert's mind. But now, with curiosity drawing his eyes toward this young woman's interest, he had to admit that this second character appeared quite familiar. It was impossible to point the exact trace, unfortunately, but nonetheless it caused Javert to furrow his brow and dig through his mind in search of the answer.
The couple had only been reunited for a matter of minutes (less than ten for sure!) when they interlocked their arms and stepped lightly down the path. Javert was quite unprepared for this action, though considering, it is difficult to say how the possibility had not struck him. He swiftly began to gather the cloth parcel and all of its innards back together, while finishing the butt of the piece of bread that was his lunch in two large bites. He secured the knot then stood to scurry after the pair. He could not say what spurred him on, but it was strong enough to leave no trace of doubt as to what he was doing.
He followed several paces behind, matching their leisurely gait, and pretending to find interest in the surrounding shrubbery. All the while, he kept an ear on their conversation. He did not want to reveal himself, so he ensured his distance, so long as he could still hear, and to stop when they stopped or even perhaps a little after and to appear entirely consumed in his surroundings.
"-so many memories," the girl was saying softly. "It never gets any easier, no matter how many times we come here."
"I know," the young man replied. He scoffed slightly and shook his head. "You probably don't remember the first time I saw you in these very gardens, do you?"
She blushed. Javert caught sight of the stain of red upon her porcelain cheek when she turned her head toward her companion. "Actually, it is hard to forget. You must have passed by our bench at least ten times that day."
He laughed. It was a very charming sound, which did not surprise Javert at all. All young men these days seemed to have elegant laughs and even more impressive hair. "I know of the time in which you are referring. It does not seem as distant as perhaps it should. But no, my love, I was actually implying an earlier time that you may not even be aware of."
"Oh?" she questioned, appearing quite perplexed.
"It was a year before, and may I impart something to you?" he asked politely.
"Of course."
He smiled charmingly. "I could hardly believe how much you had changed that second year. You looked like an entirely new person—no longer that schoolgirl, but a full-fledged woman."
The young woman blushed again and bowed her head. Javert's stomach gave a flutter, as it was modest and charming, indeed. She gave a small giggle, placing her fingers in front of her cherry lips, as if attempting to stifle it.
"What is it?" the young man inquired, though completely taken in by her joviality.
"Pardon," she breathed. "I couldn't help reminiscing about that very first letter you had left me beneath a stone. Really, I was quite surprised."
The couple stopped walking and turned to face one another. Javert had to halt abruptly and pretend to be engaged in viewing a nearby tree. He watched them from behind the trunk as they stared deeply into each other's eyes. There was nothing else in the world for them but each other.
"But when I read it," the young woman was continuing on, "I knew it had to be you—it could not be anybody but you. I had seen it in your eyes that day, and I see it in your eyes still now."
The young man caressed her cheek with the back of his hand and smiled very lovingly down at the girl. "And you shall see it in all of the years to come, Cosette." He leaned down and gave her a gentle peck on the lips.
Javert recoiled behind the trunk of the tree, as if he had just witnessed a purely private and intimate moment, which he supposed he had. His heart raced in his chest, going wild. He didn't know why he felt a sudden surge of annoyance, but his lip curled and he scowled in detest. Still, without having to look at the couple, he listened in on their continued conversation.
"Thank you, Marius," the woman whispered. "Thank you for being so understanding during this difficult time."
"Marius?" Javert whispered to himself. He had heard that name before, but he could not identify from where. It just seemed so familiar. Not to mention, it roused feelings of hatred in him. He took a breath or two to try and suppress these. He did not want to jump to conclusions. He peeked back around the tree, spying them in the same exact spot still. The woman, who must have been Cosette, was clutched to this Marius' chest.
"He meant so much to both of us," Marius cooed. "Without him, I would not even be alive today."
"Monsieur Jean was as much a father to me as he was a savior to you," Cosette announced, somewhat muffled by the man's tunic and her own depression.
Javert caught his breath. He nearly choked he held it for so long, but he could not avoid the shock and surprise of that statement. He knew precisely who they referred to now. It was the convict he had so long pursued, who he had dedicated his life in catching. It was Jean Valjean. After all, who else could it be? There was but one man by that name in all of Javert's life.
Now he knew where the young man was from, as well. He had been one of the students that had put his life on the line for change. Yet, he had managed to escape, it seemed. And, it sounded that he owed his life to Jean Valjean.
"Another life spared, eh, Jean Valjean?" he muttered to himself, still in disbelief.
"He did not have to tell you of your mother before he passed, sweetheart," Marius purred. "He could have left you with his name intact, believing him to be your true father."
Cosette shook her head. "No, you are wrong. He had no choice in the matter. He never would have rested peacefully without disclosing the truth about my origins. He was just that kind of man."
Javert's mind worked quickly. It was good to see that he still retained some usefulness from his previous life. He understood that the young woman before his eyes had been raised by none other than Jean Valjean, but that was just it. He recalled an infirmary and a dying woman, a whore then, desperately clinging to the idea of an absent child.
It was quite surprising enough to learn that the man he had pursued all of those years was now actually deceased, after all of the running and effort was over. His old self would have been sufficiently satisfied with this outcome—the thief had finally succumbed, while the law prevailed. But, his new self seemed rather disappointed over the fact.
Along with this surprise was also the disbelief of this young, proper woman's origins. Perhaps it was because it belonged to the moment, and the moment of interest certainly belonged to the young woman by the name of Cosette, that it overshadowed the ending of Jean Valjean. He felt somewhat betrayed because Cosette of the present did not look like some beggar's child. She looked a decent member of society. He felt led on and that he had just now been mercilessly dashed upon the rocks.
Javert was still attempting to comprehend how she had become so successful when realization dawned upon him. He saw the similarities between his origins and evolution and that of the girl's. They had both started in squalor and fought to survive in the world. This presented a very new and interesting attraction to him, for he had never before seen so much of himself in another human being. He had always thought that he had been alone in this large world, but now it seemed as if he had finally encountered another reformed soul much like himself.
Full of intrigue and interest, Javert continued to follow the young couple. They picked up their stroll once again, all the while never aware of the presence lurking in their shadows.
Jardin du Luxembourg: Luxembourg Garden
Pardon: Pardon; excuse me