Several months later, on a fine spring Saturday evening, Javert again appeared at the Gillesnormand's manor gates. It wasn't exactly planned by him,but, somehow, he went out and just found himself has already taken a habit to pay visits on wekends, and sometimes even more often, when he was off duty, although, if asked by anyone, he would surely say it was all Cadeau's doing, following the routine track.

Having learnt from Basque that neither Marius nor his grandfather were at home, he wanted to take his leave, but suddenly heard sounds of music from the smaller sitting-room and went up to investigate. And then just stood still, as if frozen on the spot.

Cosette was playing the pianoforte. The music that emerged from the keys of a fine old instrument was divinely light, almost etherial, and definitely otherworldly. It was the famous "Moonlight sonata", written by Ludwig von Beethoven more then twenty years before, but Javert was ignorant of the fact, as his own world and the world of music have never, until now, collided. Frankly speaking, Javert's world (before recent events) had been rather too simple, two-dimensional and lacking many things, art being one of them. But the previous year the old world crushed down, and on its shabmbles there was now slowly, but steadily,being built a new one, in which, due to the family under whose roof he was present at the moment, life was anything but dull or predictable.

"Oh, hello, M. Javert! I am sorry, I must have got carried away by my music…I hope I didn't make you wait for long?", the hostess exclaimed when she finally noticed the tall dark figure in the doorframe.

"Beg pardon, Madame, but I think it was actually me who got carried away, as you put it, " Javert still hasn't yet returned "back to the Earth". "That music…I have never heard anything of the kind. You play very well."

"Oh, but you are exaggerating, Monsieur!", Cosette blushed, still not used to taking compliments for granted. " In the convent they taught us music, of course, along with other things "proper for young ladies", but many girls were much better students than I!"

"You said "convent"?", Javert asked, frowning.

"Yes, until the age of sxteen I have been a student of the convent boarding school. Have I never mentioned it? Strange indeed, we have known each other long enough by now…I thought you must have heard…" Cosette was a little perplexed.

"Wait!", it dawned on the Inspector. "Wasn't that convent, by chance, named Petit Picpus?"

"Yes, it was. But…"

" In that case, I am a fool."

Now Cosette was even more perplexed than before.

"But why?"

" Because I should have known it, taking into consideration that there wasn't anything impossible for that man! I should have guessed, but I didn't, and , therefore, failed!"

"Pardon, M. Javert," Cosette finally got the point, " I think I understand you . But…do you really regret the fact now?! That you failed to find Papa and me back then? That we didn't get arrested?"

There was so much innocent surprise in her eyes that Javert , overwhelmed, looked away.

"No, Madame, ", he answered quietly. "I do not regret it now. And not only because of Val…your father. You, too, deserved a better fate than to be put into a state-owned orphanage.

"Do you think I'd be worse off there than in the Thenardier's inn?"

Javert flinched as if he has been slapped. He almost forgot lately that not only his childhood had been an unhappy one.

"No, I don't think so", he muttered, still not looking Cosette in the eye. "But, in the orphanage… although you would have been at least fed and clothed…it would have still been a far cry from a happy childhood, especially for a girl. I, myself, had been brought up in one of those institutions, and , believe me, Madame, I would never wish such a life for you. But do forgive me, Mme. Pontmercy, I must have invoked some bad memories…"

"It's Euphrasie, M. Javert"

"Beg pardon?"

"My given name is Euphraise. "Madame Pontmercy" or "Baroness" sounds too cold and official, as much as "Monsieur l'Inspectuer", and we are not strangers…not any longer…at least I think so, n'est-pas?"

"If you say so… Euphraise, " echoed Javert.

" And please", Cosette went on, "don't look at me that way, as if you were guilty in what had happened in my life. You didn't even know of my existence back then,when I was placed at the "Sergeant of Waterloo". And as for my life with the Thenardier family…who knows, what would I become, had they chosen to bring me up like a daughter of their own! What lessons would I have learned from them? Unlike Gavroche, who has always been a rebel and a fighter for justice, I am not a strong person, nor a strong-willed one. He, on the contrary, managed to become a good man , in spite of his parents,", she paused, taking a good look at the Inspector, who appeared to be lost in thought, "…and you, M. Emile, did just the same. And that's why I admire you both!"

Javert froze. It was the first time in decades that he heard someone calling him by his Christian name.

"You wouldn't admire me at all, Mad…Euphrasie, if you only knew more about me and what I had done, ", he said in a bitter voice, turning away to the window, his hands behind his back by habit. "You would turn me out of your house, and would be right in doing so! If you only knew the truth about your mother's death and my part in …"

"Enough!" Cosette raised her voice, which was almost unheard of. She quickly crossed the room, coming closer to the Inspector and looiking him straight in the face, which now, for once, lost its usual stoic mask. "Please, don't ever say or even think so! In fact, I do know the truth about my mother – Papa told me while he was still alive – and I do know that she couldn't be healed, not in her state of health, and she would still die even if you never approached her in the first place! It's bad enough that Papa believed himself to be the cause of her sufferings for so many years, and I will never, never accuse either him or you, do you hear me, ?", the young Baroness had a determined, strong –minded look, almost out of character.

Javert felt his hands slightly trembling.

"And besides", she added more calmly, " butterflies never live long, you know…"

"I don't understand…", Javert was geniunely puzzled.

"You see, I have very few memories of my mother, but one, the most vivid of them is the momory of our travelling to Montfermeil, along yellow fields and bright meadows, with butterflies flying to and fro…In my mind I always thought of mother as of one of those butterflies, beautiful, but fragile. The butterfly's life is bright but short, and she cannot live through cold, winds and rains …neither could my mother, being not for this world. Strong persons endure the tribultations and become stronger…and the weak…" she sighed wistfully, "they got broken by them. I will always love and remember her, but she would have never been able to bring me up like Papa did. I don't mean M. Tholomyes, of course, but my true Father."

"Jean Valjean", the Inspector whispered.

"Yes, of course. Oh, but I miss him so much!", Cosette cried.

"So do I", Javert answered without a second thought.

"I am glad you can understand me, then. And I hope", she again looked kindly at Javert, "I hope I can understand you a little better now, M. Emile! Really, you once said that God, through Papa, gave you a new life. You are no longer the man you were back in Montreiul-sur-Mer, so it's high time you let the past go…"

"Go where exactly, sis? I've only just returned!", Gavroche burst into the room with a schoolbag on one shoulder and a guitar on another. "Oh, hello, Inspector! Are you, too, in for a lecture by Cosette? Just like her to make a man sit still and listen to those endless dull concerts…"

"Good evening to you, too, Gavroche! No, I wasn't lecturing, but I will now, if you continue to forget knocking before entering…And where, pray, did you get that from?" Cosette was now back her usual self.

"Oh, I got it from Jose, he's in my class at school . We had an exchage, sort of, and besides, he doesn't enjoy playing it any longer, and as for me, I'd like to learn to play very much, " he looked meaningfully at Javert, "but neither Marius nor Cosette would teach me, they only play that huge monument"…

"Look, boy, let me take it for a moment", Javert, all of a sudden, took the instrument he thought until now he would never willingly take into his hands, as a reminder of his Roma background .

In spite of his being decades out of guitar practice, Javert professional memory never failed him.