Javert and Valjean did not speak during their stroll. Instead, they paid more attention to the growing influx of people and lively shop fronts. Valjean found it mesmerizing just how much activity could be contained in one block of Paris, compared to the entire town of Montreuil-sur-Mer.
He wondered vaguely if anyone visiting Paris for the first time would marvel at it as he did.
Valjean cast a glance in Javert's direction.
Bereft of his trademark coat, the man had his chin tucked downwards, cushioned by his black cravat. Those grey-blue eyes, though pinioned to the path in from of them, still assessed every person and shop they passed.
Flower carts full of hyacinths and roses rolled past, children and gentlemen parting to make way. Specialty shops of all kinds harked their wares from prized family stewed jams to pickled vegetables in ceramic vessels.
They remained silent as they walked down the sloping cobbled path. They made their way towards the bustling café at the end of the crowded lane. As Javert expected, it was full of young men with the occasional female lending a burst of tingling laughter. Despite the rainstorm, many patrons took to the outside, mingling about under the cloth awnings.
They remained off to the side of the stone building while a large party of young beaus and their sweethearts exited the main entrance.
A wooden placard hung above the door by two polished brass rings attached to a large carved dowel. It swung in the breeze, perfectly centred. Painted on the signboard was a silhouette of a traveling man in crisp charcoal brushwork. One hand was confidently thrust out, cane in hand. His feet were fastened to a single flowing line that swirled out from under him to encircle the words, Le Seul Homme son Piste.
Valjean turned towards the Inspector.
"Why is it named that? It's a very unusual title for a café."
Javert looked up at the sign. "Ah. The owner here, despite his rugged looks and obvious flair for cuisine, remains in a constant state of bachelorhood."
"It seems easier to use 'célibataire son piste' rather," said Valjean.
"Then it would imply something that is not true. Bachelor he is, but celibate? Not so much."
Valjean widened his eyes a fraction and rubbed the back of his head. He always thought it uncanny at how much information Javert knew about other people.
Once the last of the dregs filtered through the café, Javert strode forward. His hand automatically reached out for the door while the other wavered in the vicinity of his breast.
All of a sudden he turned abruptly, nearly colliding with Valjean. Startled, Valjean stood by as Javert began marching back up the street, boots tapping a steady rhythm.
Valjean jogged to catch up with Javert as people removed themselves from his trajectory.
"Javert, what are you doing?"
"I knew my coat was important," he answered. Confused, Valjean waited for Javert to explain himself further, but apparently that was clarification enough. It wasn't until Valjean shoved his hand into his own coat pocket that he realized exactly what Javert meant.
"I'll pay, Javert. There is no need to go back, not when we are already here and I am able."
"Like hell you will. I am not your charity case."
"It is not charity! I'm merely returning the favour from last night. It isn't fair that you paid for us both there—"
"That was strictly business related," cut Javert, dismissing the statement with a slice of his hand. He kept up his brisk pace despite the mild slope and almost reached the curb on the main thoroughfare. Valjean in a spurt of frustration reached out and pulled Javert back, fingers clutching the loose material of his shirtsleeve.
Javert stood, staring out across the street for a moment, while Valjean caught his breath beside him. He batted Valjean's hand with his envelope.
"Unhand me, Valjean. Stop being obtuse."
Valjean rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Let's be reasonable. I am not going to presume your schedule, but it would be simpler if I paid for the both of us."
Javert immediately tightened, crossing his arms. He was about to retort, but Valjean held out his hand.
"It took us a quarter of an hour to get here, and if you go back, we will essentially spend an extra thirty minutes of our time in travel. I cannot stay longer than I need to. I must return to Cosette by one."
Javert glanced at Valjean. Then he spun around, breaking free of Valjean's loose grip. They returned again to the café, Javert tossing open the door. Valjean lagging behind, caught it before it completely shut and was relieved to note that Javert was easy to spot in the crowded establishment. His tall frame accented by his white shirt, took up a small table in the back near the bar, which was full of customers happily downing their wares.
Valjean picked his way past tables leaden with empty tin pints and plates plastered with sauces. Others were bolstered with loud men on their break, swapping news and stories. When Valjean finally reached their table, he planted himself opposite of Javert. He paid no heed.
Until a small rumble issued forth from under the table.
Javert gave no sign of a response to the noise, save for a slight grimace.
Valjean blinked as he tried to wrap his head around the strange sound of Javert's appetite.
"Coffee only," said Javert, as he pulled at his whiskers.
Valjean looked around the room before addressing Javert fully, looking him in the eye.
"Look, Javert. You obviously need food and you paid for me last night," reasoned Valjean, with a bit of Madeleine's authority solidifying the statement. He rested his arm on the table and traced the wood. "Also, I cannot abide eating when another is not."
Javert huffed, nostrils flaring.
"How noble of you."
Javert then called to a waiter currently bussing a table in the back of the café, near the bar. Upon hearing Javert's voice, he held up a finger and resumed his task. He gathered the multitude of dishes into a massive pile, each sitting upon the other precariously. Yet he kept piling more on top. Taking his load, he walked confidently to the back and returned almost instantaneously.
The young man was lithe, moving nimbly between the tables and avoiding jostling elbows and emptying chairs with ease. His long, unfashionable hair was pulled back into a short queue like a bobtail, secured tightly with a length of slim ribbon. He stopped to converse with a balding patron near one of the open windows, and the sunlight highlighted his toffee coloured hair.
Though he was obviously a working class man, his clothes were well cared for and spotless. They fit his body as if it was sewn for that exact purpose.
To call him a dandy would have been an insult; he had none of that idleness and self-absorbency that clouded their persona.
Javert ordered lunch and coffee for them both, causing their waiter's trimmed eyebrows to leap upwards.
"Ah, Monsieur Javert!" exclaimed the young man, voice lacking the throatiness of maturity. "You're actually going to eat? What's the occasion? Are you finally taking up Monsieur Cocteau's offer?"
"Nothing of the sort."
The man rolled his eyes, planted a fist on his hip and leaned forward. "You stubborn ass. He only wants to repay you, you realize that?"
Javert merely relaxed back into his chair, looking around, bored.
"His café might be the best in all of Paris, but he already repaid me. I refuse any extra services he presumes I need."
"So then, why are you eating for once?"
"My associate and I are celebrating."
The waiter finally took notice of Valjean, smiled, and thrust out his hand. The young man's hands were small and fingers broad. Valjean took it in his own and shook it. It didn't escape Valjean how short and bitten the young man's nails were.
"Good afternoon, Monsieur. I am Almanzo Fréminet, but please call me by my first name. Anyone that comes in here with our dear Inspector is welcome, as he doesn't often bring guests."
A small hmph issued forth from the scowling man.
"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Almanzo, and thanks," replied Valjean giving a quick bow of his head. "My name is Jean Valjean."
He waited instinctively for the twist of condemnation to mar the lad's smooth features, but remarkably, he smiled. As if he genuinely was delighted at meeting him. Valjean responded in kind, though his was tinier and half-hidden behind his beard.
"So what's the celebration?"
Before Valjean could reply, Javert answered with a single word: "Correspondence."
Instantly, Almanzo's gregarious features arranged themselves into a mask of indifference. He shuffled a bit and rubbed his clean-shaven jaw.
"Ah. I take it that's the same from before?"
"Even better. Monsieur Valjean here noticed something interesting."
"Oh? That's intriguing in of itself," chuckled the young man.
Javert looked in askance, prompting Almanzo to finish.
He took a step back before responding with a massive grin: "I find it astonishing that you actually had decent help this time."
Despite Javert's glare, Valjean couldn't help the laughter that welled up and split forth in one puncturing admission.
After affirming their orders, Almanzo left, leaving the two men alone in an archipelago of crowded tables. Around them workers, a couple of milquetoasts, and a plethora of students, all engaged in a disordered blend of conversational topics. The students were the noisiest of the lot, slapping backs and inhaling food like ravenous ducks at a pond.
Minutes later, their waiter returned, wooden tray perched upon his thin arm. Quickly, he placed two mugs upon the stained wood tabletop.
A patch of sunlight hit the coffee cups, revealing the voluptuously curling steam. Javert and Valjean both reached for their respective cups, with Valjean scraping his across the table. Javert snatched his with one hand, large fingers containing the entire vessel. He cupped the ceramic with his other hand, and inhaled deeply.
A light touch brought his attention back to Almanzo, who was smiling while he held out the small tray.
"Would you like sugar and cream?"
Valjean looked back at Javert, one arm lying on the table. The other held the cup, pointer finger wedged through the small opening created by the handle, while he sipped at his brew.
Almanzo laughed. "I don't even ask him anymore; it would be ludicrous."
Nodding, Valjean accepted the courtesy.
"Thank you."
Valjean took the small pot of sugar, gingerly taking the teaspoon with his fingers. He scooped a small amount of the dusty granules and sprinkled them into his coffee evenly. The powder sat on top before dissolving into the ebony beverage. The cup clinked merrily with the ringing of metal as Valjean stirred the contents. The ceramic sugar pot was removed by the attentive Almanzo, and replaced with an earthenware pitcher of cream. Indulging himself, Valjean poured a thick stream, watching it swirl and mingle into the coffee, white froth clinging to the edges.
Placing his lips on the mug, he tested the brew with the tip of his tongue. The invisible steam warmed his face and he closed his eyes, finding the temperature ideal. He sipped slowly, savouring the bittersweet tang of expertly roasted beans and the soft interlay of smooth cream.
Valjean never realized how ordinary occurrences could evoke such experiences. Simple gratifications were something he had never accustomed himself to.
Almanzo left, gathering dirty earthenware off random tables as he made his way to the back. The pair fell into silence, Javert alternating between dragging long swigs of his coffee and scrutinizing their fellow Parisians. Though it looked as if Javert was glancing out the windows or drinking, the rapid movements of his eyes contradicted this assumption.
Almanzo returned promptly, two deep bowls filled with a thick broth. Submerged in the rich mixture was a variety of vegetables from spring peas to chunks of turnips. Valjean's mouth watered at the sensuous scent of beef and he immediately delved into the dish. Javert's mug was replaced with another steaming mug and a carved bread plate was set down before the young man left them to their repast.
Javert ate vivaciously, spoon scraping the bowl as it fought to hold as much stew as it could. Though he was expedient in his actions, he was also methodical, not spilling a single drop. They ate without adding any vocals to the surrounding commotion. Spoons clattered in bowls as one would reach for their coffee or the crusty bread would be broken for use in gathering leftover strains of broth.
Astoundingly, Javert finished before Valjean. He popped the last piece of sourdough in his mouth before moving his spotless bowl to the side. He braced an arm on the table, his tan skin a slight contrast to the honey-coloured pine.
Javert studied Valjean as he brought another spoon of the burgundy stew to his lips. Only when Valjean swallowed the bite did Javert address him:
"We are going to discuss the stipulation that requires you to hold a job while on parole."
"I understand," agreed Valjean before taking a bite of the warm bread.
Javert tapped his coffee mug as he held it aloft.
"Do you? The document states that it must be approved by your parole officer as well aid in the benefit of France's citizens. So you cannot simply choose any type of work."
"What will you have me do then? It's not as if it's easy to find work, much less for man such as I."
"Granted. But that is my job. I must approve it. So I will help you find the station best suited for you."
Valjean grimaced, chafing at how much responsibility was now in Javert's control.
"Will you stop, Valjean?" barked Javert, gesturing towards him. "If I wanted to dismiss you to some unpleasant task, I would have done so. I certainly wouldn't be wasting my time asking you questions."
"Now, we are both aware of your talents in regards to mayoral tasks, but I believe that isn't your strong suit. I believe it lies elsewhere." He leaned forward.
"What are your strengths Valjean?"
Valjean reclined backwards, eyes fixing on a point outside the window as he wondered over Javert's inquiry. He always pondered his areas of weakness in order to address them, and to diminish them. Never had he really considered his personal strengths before.
He swiped the last of the full-bodied broth with a bread crust and chewed fully before he addressed Javert.
"Toil."
Javert raised a brow, and Valjean continued, "I was a pruner from Faverolles, so I understand the earth. It was always a pleasant task to aid those in the fields at Montreuil-sur-Mer. Staying inside, surrounded by mounds of paperwork was never an easy or enjoyable task. But it helped people, so I did not complain.
I had a garden as Monsieur Madeleine, and I have one as Jean Valjean. It is my one talent that I favour above all else."
Javert nodded once, downed the rest of his coffee and placed the mug with his bowl.
"Understood. Taking what I have observed along with your own preferences, I shall investigate possible avenues of work."
Valjean nodded.
"Expect me to call before our next parole meeting. I want to finalize your transition before then so I can have the paperwork ready for Commissaire Lautrec."
Though the idea of Javert paying a visit to his place of residence was a disquieting and novel idea, he tramped the feelings down. Instead he asked: "What time of day can I expect you?"
Javert stared at him.
Seeing no answer forthcoming, Valjean explained, "So I am in residence when you call?"
Javert blinked. "Early afternoon then. I have no shifts during that time allotment."
Valjean relaxed into his chair and exhaled a breath. Despite Javert's direct speaking habits, navigating conversation outside of work topics with him was a daunting task.
Luckily Almanzo returned, giving a passing guest a friendly greeting before addressing their table.
"So, what's the order of the day, Monsieur Javert?"
Javert did not look up. "Samples."
"Ah, is this in regards to the ones that your proxy tasted? Poor lad was all flustered last week when he came to pick them up." Almanzo smiled devilishly. "That record boy is fun to tease."
"Keep to the task at hand," reprimanded Javert. He was still facing Valjean as if he was conversing with him instead, but it didn't stop Valjean from feeling the bite. Almanzo's ears reddened and his shoulders hunched like a turtle retreating into its shell.
"It is in regards to Monsieur Handel."
Almanzo's face tightened, brows puckering.
"I trust you understand my aversion for that man."
"And I trust you understand my aversion at seeing crime continuing unimpeded," said Javert, before draining his cup. "As well you know."
He then placed the empty mug into Almanzo's outstretched hand, sliding a slip of paper between his palm and the ceramic bottom with practiced ease.
"Also, please note me if you see Monsieur Alain in the district. I have not seen him, and it is urgent that I do so."
Almanzo took the mug along with their empty bowls, though he cast a sullen glance towards Javert. When he reached for Valjean's mug, he nonchalantly tucked the paper into his trouser pocket. Once all the dishes were nesting on his left arm, Almanzo passed over a different slip of paper to Javert. He immediately waved it off.
"He's paying."
"Oh." Almanzo straightened.
"Wait—"he threw a glance towards Valjean—"really?"
"Or so he says."
"That is most excellent! The manager won't have something to grumble about for once!"
The young man graciously took Valjean's five franc piece. When he reached for change, Valjean shook his head, telling him to keep it. Almanzo smiled.
"Take care." He turned to the Inspector.
"Javert, I will note you when the samples are ready."
Javert nodded in affirmation. "Thank you. I will retrieve them personally."
"Understood."
They left the smoke filled café, walking side by side. It was only when they were crossing the congested Rue du Écoles that Valjean gave into his curiosity.
"Why would my paying make the manager happy?"
"Hmm?" Javert gave Valjean a sidelong glance, as they manoeuvred around snorting horses and stationary carriages. Valjean waited patiently until they reached the other side away from the traffic. No imminent answer in sight, he made to ask again, but Javert interrupted.
"The manager owes me a debt. One month of patronage. "Javert smiled wickedly, eyes creasing at the corners. "But what he never realized is exactly how much coffee this one policeman consumes."