"Take a seat, Javert."
Monsieur Madeleine closed the door of his office and went to put some wood in the fireplace. Javert put his hat on one of the chairs and sat down. It was two in the afternoon and the mayor had just finished another appointment. The old man sat down and sighed.
"Ah, Javert. What a day. What time is it ?" He glanced at the pocket watch that was leaning against a pile of files, "it's already so late! I have to go to the infirmary in an hour. Come on, we're wasting time. Did you do what I asked? »
Javert nodded and took out the packet of letters that the Thénardiers had written to Fantine from the pocket of his coat. The mayor was looking at him with a questioning air. "That's it?" exclaimed Madeleine.
"That's all," Javert continued. The mayor seized the package and began to examine them. The mayor's face changed as the letters passed under his eyes. Javert also examined him, his eyes sparkling, he now undoubtedly recognized the face of the convict Jean Valjean. The gentle gaze of Father Madeleine had obviously replaced the harsh and merciless gaze of the convict. Beneath the wise features of his face were the stigmata of the prison. His prey was there, in front of him, defenseless and unaware of the claws that would soon close on him. Javert had learned, during his long years of police service, to put his feelings on the back burner. Javert was in control of himself, even someone who could have known him thoroughly would have had a hard time guessing what was going on in his mind right now. Nothing passed on this marble figure, which could have betrayed for a single moment Javert's strange mixture of feelings. Only one side of his upper lip was raised asymmetrically and expressed his aversion to the mayor.
"Poor Fantine," sighed Madeleine, throwing the pile of letters on his desk. I sent three hundred francs on Monday. Fantine had told me about them in one of her rare moment of lucidity. I told them to get Cosette here as soon as possible. Yesterday, I received a letter saying that Cosette is sick and that they need money to cure her."
"Again? »
Poor Madeleine nodded affirmatively then. "We'll see and if I have to, I'll pick her up myself, the problem is that I'll have to be away for several days. Anyway... tell me what you know, Javert. »
"She lived in a small room, I went there myself and met the woman she was living with. »
"So? Her stuff? »
"That was all, Mr. Mayor. There was only that, a desk, a chair and a piece of cloth." Javert's monochord voice contrasted with the horrified face of the mayor.
"The poor child," muttered the old man, who seemed to have plunged into a dark dream.
"Can I get the letters back?" asked Javert abruptly.
"What? »
"The letters," Javert referred to the heap of paper.
"Ah? Well, if they are of any use to you, take them, Javert."
The mayor again cast a hasty glance at his watch, half an hour had passed. He stood up, while Javert retrieved the pile of letters. "Well, I think that's it. Thank you, Javert," said the mayor as he put on his coat.
"One more thing, Mr. Mayor," Javert seemed embarrassed, but under the impatient gaze of the mayor, he said softly, "I would also like to take a look at the one you received, please."
"The one that the Thénardiers sent away?" Javert nodded, and immediately the mayor pulled out the letter from under the pile of files and gave it to Javert. "I'm going to see Fantine, perhaps you should come and see her sometime. But don't forget, Javert, that this woman is, as long as I live, under my protection, I will not allow anything to happen to her."
Madeleine's gaze had planted itself in Javert's, the two men almost measured each other defiantly. A few seconds of silence were enough for Javert to extinguish the rage that Madeleine had awakened. As long as he was mayor, nothing would happen to the prostitute, Javert silently corrected. Soon Jean Valjean would be sent back to the prison and he would remain there forever. Soothed by this certainty, Javert made a short bow and left the room under the watchful eye of the mayor
What could the mayor fear? Javert, since the black-haired prostitute had spoken to him, knew that Fantine was innocent. He waved to a carriage, heavy raindrops had begun to fall and Javert didn't want to finish his walk soaked. He settled down comfortably while the rain intensified outside. Lulled by the rhythm of the car, Javert, immersed in his thoughts, observing the landscape outside unfolding before his eyes. Umbrellas were being taken out while others, not so foresighted, were taking refuge under the covered terraces of the cafés. What would have happened if Javert had arrived a few minutes earlier on the night of the incident with the prostitute? Javert shook his head and put an end to this dreaming.