Chapter Fifteen

Javert had just gotten in from his patrol when Madeleine walked into the Prefecture.

"Monsieur le Maire," Javert said respectfully, bowing his head.

"Good afternoon, Inspector," Madeleine greeted him with a friendly smile.

Javert was not sure what to make of that. Madeleine had always been at least a little civil, even during that point after Fantine's arrest when he had come to admit that he had falsely denounced Madeleine as a convict. Oh, he had been a little cold perhaps at the beginning but Javert had been avoiding him and the moment that Madeleine had heard of how Javert had disgraced himself he had seemed to forget all about that and go on about promotions and esteem or whatnot.

If Javert had not been firmly convinced that there was no possibility whatsoever that Madeleine could be Jean Valjean he would have taken this for an attempt at bribery and would have been insulted. As it was, he had assumed that the mayor had taken pity on him and was considering making him his newest charity case and had still been insulted. He had been far less insulted, however, and – largely – refrained from showing that because his treachery and disloyalty had earned him far worse than a little condescension. He had, in fact, been a little relieved that the mayor's (probably accidental) punishing him with pity had ameliorated the uneasiness he had had about not being dismissed in disgrace for his betrayal.

He could not recall Madeleine being actually friendly before and it certainly did not seem appropriate to be discussing a work-related matter. And what else did they ever talk about besides the matter of Jean Valjean which was, in fact, tangentially related to their jobs.

"Is there something you need of me?" he asked nevertheless.

"No, nothing like that," Madeleine assured him. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me find Cosette."

"You already thanked me," Javert pointed out.

"Did I?" Madeleine asked rhetorically. "I confess that I was just so relieved to see her that I don't even remember. But, in any event, thank you again for your actions. I cannot overstate just how worried I was for her and, though she was fine when you found her, had you not located her who knows what might have happened before she made it safely home?"

"Montreuil is the safest town I have ever been stationed at," Javert replied. "But I do take your point."

"It is good to know that you can rely on the police here," Madeleine continued.

"Were you not able to before?" Javert inquired, wondering as he always did when such sentiment was expressed whether a lack of confidence in the police said something about the character of the person expressing these sentiments or about the police they had encountered themselves who were not always as correct as they should be.

"I…have not always had the best experiences with them," Madeleine said slowly. "But please allow me to say that you are the finest officer I have ever known and a credit to your uniform."

Javert grimaced. "You seem to be forgetting about a certain unfortunate letter that I once wrote."

"No, it is not forgotten," Madeleine corrected him. "I can just appreciate that your dedication to the law is paramount and not even money or an official title would protect a wanted criminal from you."

"You put it so much grander than it was," Javert said, almost accusingly. "I was mistaken. I was stupid. You could never have been such a man."

"Perhaps not," Madeleine agreed. "But you were not willing to let those things that I mentioned stop you from investigating and seeing the possibility that we two could have been one and the same. I am sure that at some point a criminal will manage to look quite respectable indeed and I do not think that other members of the police will be quite so willing to bring the truth to light as you are."

"I could have done you great harm," Javert protested.

"I do not believe so," Madeleine said. "It seems easy enough to be able to tell a man who has been to the galleys from one who has not. There are scars that living, what was it, twenty years under the lash will leave upon you, scars that are unlikely to be attained in any other way. Scars on the wrists and ankles for chains, perhaps? You did mention a certain limp. And I have seen enough men just released from prison to know that there is usually a strange scarring on the skull. There are also brands, I believe, which make the matter rather clear."

"Nineteen years," Javert corrected. "And Jean Valjean entered Toulon before the brands were reinstated. But you are correct in that the courts could not fail to correctly distinguish between a man who is a convict and a man who is not. The farthest it ever could have gotten was you being examined by doctors, the district attorney, and perhaps a few witnesses."

"Yes, even when I attempted to tell the world that I was Jean Valjean they still saw right through me," Madeleine said, something a little odd in his voice.

"I was still wrong to have done so," Javert insisted.

"Because you were mistaken, perhaps. If you had been right you would have been a hero and either way you would have just been doing your duty. There is something admirable in being willing to pursue your duty regardless of what your superiors would have you do, as frustrating as that may be as your superior at times," Madeleine said firmly. "You may not believe me, Javert, but my opinion will not change. That is the wonderful thing about opinions; it does not matter how strong of an argument you can mount because we are under no obligation to change them."

"As you wish," Javert said.

"I would like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night," Madeleine said abruptly.

Javert started. "Monsieur le Maire?"

"You saved Cosette and so I feel that this is the best and most appropriate way to thank you," Madeleine continued.

That was overstating it a little. She had been having fun playing with her friends and, even if something bad might have happened to her without Javert finding her, she had not been in need of immediate saving. It was not like Madeleine and Fauchelevent's cart.

"It really is not necessary," Javert demurred.

"Oh, I think it is," Madeleine disagreed. "Cosette and I have guests so infrequently, you understand that I prefer a solitary lifestyle and you know better than I what horrors Cosette faced before coming here, and I can think of no one better to be a rare guest at our home than the man who so faithfully serves this town and saved Cosette's life."

It was not as though Javert had not received what he considered effusive bursts of gratitude before though it was not very common with the public's view of the police being what it was. He had learned that there really was no arguing with people if they persisted on believing that simply doing one's duty was cause for such thankfulness or that locating a perfectly safe child was akin to saving a life.

Javert knew that such an event would be incredibly uncomfortable and he was not entirely sure it was appropriate given that he was the man's subordinate but such things could be rendered acceptable at the superior's wish. He did not have the time to argue about it, that was certain, and so he carefully scrutinized Madeleine, looking for traces of uncertainty. He found none, just the usual stubborn determination. Madeleine really meant for him to come and he was willing to spend as long as it took trying to convince him.

"Very well, Monsieur le Maire," Javert acquiesced.

Madeleine couldn't hide his look of surprise. "Ah, that is wonderful, Javert! Would seven o'clock work with your schedule?"

Javert nodded. "It would indeed. It is very thoughtful of you to take my schedule into consideration."

"It would be foolish of me not to considering that I am your superior and your duties are for the preservation and protection of my town," Madeleine replied. "I look forward to seeing you then, Inspector."

Javert just sighed and put it out of his mind for now before starting in on his paperwork.

Valjean and Cosette were enjoying a nice walk through town together. The weather was nice and the people waved to them or called out to them but did not stop and talk and interrupt their peace. Valjean still felt a little awkward at all of this adoration and never truly felt like he knew what to say (strangely, he seemed to be on better ground with Javert for all that their discussions were always also awkward or semi-arguments about deeply held worldviews) but everyone else seemed to think that he did alright or at the least were used to his social fumbling.

And it was rather nice to be greeted with universal regard when compared to the universal disdain he was still so used to receiving. He would have thought that the eight years he had as a respectable man (first a hero, than a hero factory owner philanthropist, then finally a hero factory owning philanthropic mayor) would have gotten him used to such things, especially as he had only actually been on parole and thus rejected by everyone for five days.

Eight years was nothing to the nineteen years in Toulon but he had not had much contact with ordinary men then and the people of Toulon had viewed the guards far more harshly than the convicts. Why that was Valjean was never quite sure of because while he himself had hated the guards with more ferocity than he had hated everyone and everything else, he highly doubted that the guards would go around beating the townspeople.

And before Toulon, though it was difficult to remember, he had mostly been ignored by everyone the same way he had been after breaking parole and before he came to Montreuil. Being ignored was really all he had ever aspired to once he had first tasted infamy and this…it was overwhelming at times. He still didn't feel that he deserved it but he almost guiltily appreciated their well-wishes and esteem.

And Cosette! This was all very good for her, he thought, so he would have welcomed it no matter how much he might have hated it. Cosette had (from the bits and pieces he had heard about her past though they had not really directly discussed it and he was, perhaps naively, hoping she would just forget all about it as time passed) been well-known back in Montfermeil but the townspeople had not been kind. They had not disdained her as she had been an innocent but they had been silent witnesses to her mistreatment and had not seen fit to do anything about it. They called her the Lark and treated her as an object of curiosity, gossiping about how her mother had abandoned her and how good the Thénardiers were to have taken her inn for free right where she could hear. And she had never known just how wrong the gossip had been.

Well, she knew now, at least.

And she really did seem to enjoy the way that people were so much more friendly now. Valjean smiled at them more so he would not have to speak to them than because he was glad of the attention but Cosette seemed to thrive under this sort of general feeling of goodwill that was directed their way.

One familiar figure did step into their path.

"Hello, Monsieur le Maire," Bamatabois said, doffing his hat. "Mademoiselle Cosette."

Cosette giggled the way that she always did at being addressed as Mademoiselle even though it was a pretty regular occurrence nowadays. Valjean could not decide if he found it more sweet or sad that after all this time such a basic form of polite address could elicit such a reaction from her. He remembered how he had responded to first being called Monsieur after nineteen years (before he proved himself utterly unworthy of such consideration by making off with the silver but he tried not to think of that) and seeing the parallels between his wretched and hopeless self after nineteen years in Toulon and this innocent child was difficult.

"Hello, Monsieur," she chirped.

"Cosette, this is Monsieur Bamatabois," Valjean introduced.

He knew that he owed Bamatabois a great deal, whether he liked it or not. He was not pleased at the blatant way that Bamatabois had subverted the course of justice and allowed Valjean to keep his position at the expense of an innocent man but a darker part of him was grateful that the other man had done what he could not bring himself to do. The fact that this man knew his secret, for all he would never tell as long as Valjean continued to bring prosperity to Montreuil, also sat uneasily with him. He wasn't sure why, exactly. There was just something about Bamatabois. Perhaps it was his willingness to convince an entire jury that a man who had confessed and was willing if not eager to accept his punishment was confused and the fact that he had succeeded at it. Someone who was that good at substituting his version of reality in place of the truth…It may be hypocritical or he may just be reacting negatively to aspects he recognized in himself. It made him uneasy.

Cosette curtseyed for him. "Monsieur Bamatabois."

"What a well-behaved child!" Bamatabois exclaimed, smiling at her.

They spoke for a few minutes before Bamatabois excused himself and Valjean tried to pretend that he was not pleased to see him go.

"He seems nice," Cosette remarked.

"So he does."

They walked for a little longer before some ragged children run up to him and look up hopefully.

Valjean's heart tugs at him the way it always does. Children should not live like this but even now he has failed to completely eradicate this sort of wretchedness from Montreuil.

One day. That's what keeps him going, the dream that one day he will see an end to this sort of misery.

Cosette eyes them curiously and it occurred to him that perhaps she had not been with him when these poor children approached him before. On the one hand, he did not want to break her heart by exposing her to yet more pain but on the other it was important to instill the values of charity and compassion for others in her.

Valjean smiled at them as he gave them a few coins and they thanked him before running off.

Cosette was frowning after them.

"What is it?" Valjean asked her.

"Who were those people?" she asked.

Valjean sighed heavily. "They live on the streets. Their parents are either dead or have abandoned them."

Cosette clutched at his hand. "They looked like me."

Valjean knelt down next to her and brushed her hair behind her ear. "You were never abandoned, Cosette. Your mother always loved you." He could not say the same of the man who had not married her mother but he really did not know enough about the man to say that he was even still alive and there was really no need to upset Cosette with the story.

Cosette looked down. "I know. But I didn't know for a long time and I did not live on the streets but the Thénardiers' inn and I do not think that was much better."

Valjean could think of no other response to that other than to pick her up. "Well it's over now and you never have to worry about that again."

"But what about them?" Cosette asked, nodding in the direction that the children had gone. "Will they be alright?"

Valjean sighed. "I don't know, Cosette. I do what I can, giving money to them whenever they approach me. If they should live long enough, I will employ them in my factory."

Cosette tightened her grip on him. "You mean they might die?"

Valjean winced. That was careless of him to say. "I hope not. Like I said, they know that they can come to me anytime they need money and that should keep them alive."

"I don't like to see people out in the cold with nowhere to go," Cosette said softly. "I especially don't like it when it's children."

"Me neither," Valjean told her as he began to walk on. The weather was still nice but the cold was coming, he knew that well. "And that is why I try to help them out as best I can. It is not enough to just give people money to help them live to see tomorrow, though that is very important as well."

"It's not?" Cosette asked.

"No, you also have to try and make sure there are other things available to help them. Giving money to the church, or example, or funding a school. Providing work for parents so that more children do not end up on the street," Valjean explained.

Sometimes he worried about the future of Montreuil. He did good work, he knew, and had no intention of stopping anytime soon but he was just one man and he was getting older. What would happen to the town once he died? What would become of his factory? It was better for him to single-handedly supply the money to improve life than for nobody to do so but it all seemed to center around him. And that was fine as long as he was there to give them money. One day he wouldn't be. What would happen then? He didn't like to think about it.

"That sounds like it will take a long time," Cosette said unhappily.

"It will," Valjean agreed. "But one day, Cosette. One day."