Javert left the infirmary and as the town was still sleeping, he went directly to Master Scaufflaire's. He took a stagecoach and left the city for Arras. He did not want the Mayor to notice his absence so he did not linger longer than necessary in Arras. There, he went directly to find out about the affair. He was told how the criminal had been arrested and how he had been identified as the ex-convict Jean Valjean.
"Do you want to see him, Inspector? »
"That's why I'm here... »
"Follow me, he must be in the prison yard. »
"I would like, if possible, to see without being seen,"said Javert as he was being led down the winding corridors of the prison.
"Oh, I understand. Yes, you're right. The prisoner is already very disturbed, there is no point in adding anymore."
"Of course."
It had been ages since the inspector had been around the walls of a prison. Having spent much of his youth as a guard in the chain gang the smell and cold of these long stone corridors brought back dark and harsh memories. They arrived on a small balcony overlooking a small courtyard square below. The courtyard was paved with concrete and was surrounded by four walls without windows. One could only go in and get out by the same and single door. This courtyard, seen from above, looked like a square pit that had been pierced in the prison. In the summer it was too hot to stay there and in the winter the wind was blowing in and it was impossible to stay there without risk of hypothermia. When it rained, the water drained through a few small holes dug in the concrete and barricaded with wires, as if one feared that the prisoners, after having changed into small rats or mice, would escape. In reality, these small evacuations, before being blocked, had been used as hiding places for prisoners who wanted to hide small weapons or notes. Once, a small knife had been made out of a flint, it is said that the blade had been sharpened on the bars of a cell, one end had been wrapped in a cloth to make a handle. The prisoner who had made it hid it in an evacuation hole, one day he waited for the right moment, when the guard would come to fetch him, and then the prisoner attacked him. The guard was severely wounded in the throat and died as a result of his wound and the prisoner was sentenced to death. Therefore, the chief of police had the evacuations and ventilation of all the prisons in France checked and soon, everything was covered with an iron grid. And no one knew how the prisoner got his hands on a flint.
The guard waved to Javert to come closer to see. Downstairs, in the cold February sunshine, a man sat in the centre of the square, his back bent and his face in his hands. The man's hair was long, slightly wavy and almost white. Javert folded his eyes to see better and leaned over the balustrade. The man below had the stature of a young man and only his white and grey hair betrayed him. How old would Jean Valjean be today? How old was Monsieur Madeleine? Javert did the math. Then, with a resolute air, he shook his head.
The door of the courtyard opened, another guard appeared: "the break is over!" cried the guard, shaking the walls of the prison. Jean Valjean slowly raised his head, Javert could finally see his profile. The features of the old man were hollowed out by weariness and fatigue. Jean Valjean stood up, straightening himself in all his stature, he was taller than the prison guard. Yes, now Javert could see the convict again in all his vigor at the prison of Toulon, rising among the others, surpassing them in size and width. Although the man standing at the bottom seemed less massive than before. Javert resonated within, that was normal, he was only an old man now, he was not as strong as he used to be. Jean Valjean walked through the door under the strong and proud eye of the guard. Javert held his breath, the guard looked like a straw next to the prisoner, he was certain that, if Jean Valjean wanted it, he would have swept the guard away with a punch without any effort. Without realizing it, Javert's hand had squeezed around his cane. He remained still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the door long after it had closed.
"Inspector? »
Javert came out of his contemplation and turned sharply to the guard who had led him here. "I saw him," he said.
It was scarcely six o'clock, and Javert was waiting for the stagecoach which would take him back to Montreuil. He and was allowed to sit at a table and was offered a drink. And while he waited, Javert lit a cigar. However, he was unable to have the slightest drag of it. The cigar burned up while the inspector had plunged into some kind of dream. He had seen Jean Valjean, he was sure now, that man was the convict. But although he should have felt relieved, deep down he felt a sort of discomfort. There was something wrong with the whole story. And, as an addition to his troubles, he had unfairly charged his superior, the mayor of Montreuil.
"Inspector Javert? Is that you, monsieur?" a young woman came to pull him out of his thoughts, it was the young waitress who handed him a letter. "We just dropped this off, it's for Inspector Javert."
"That's me," Javert said, taking the letter, "thank you." He recognized the official police seal and waited until the young woman walked away to open it. He was summoned to the court of Arras, he was summoned and his presence was required for the trial of Jean Valjean. The trial would take place in a few days.
That meant he would have to come back here in a few days. He did not want to, but, he thought, maybe that was what he needed. After the verdict, after Jean Valjean gets a life sentence, I'll be at peace. He read the letter again, the trial was imminent, he could stay in Arras until then, he would justify it later, his duty here was more important. Just a few days. Then, without a warning, Fantine's thought popped up in his mind. And at the same time, the ashes of the cigar burned his fingers. Javert pouted and stood up, he seized the letter and put it in his cloak. After all, it was better to go back to Montreuil.