A/N: Here we go, another chapter! Thank you, once more, to all of my readers and reviewers! Please vote in the poll on my profile page; the poll is for deciding whether or not I shall put a timeline for my story arc Chance on my profile to aid readers. Also – I have posted a tentative order of fanfictions that I am planning/are in progress for my story arc Chance (this is not the timeline).
A/N: Any French speakers or natives of French, this is a question for you. I recently obtained a French copy of Les Miserables, published in the "Collection de L'Arbre Rond" by the company "Editions Touret". I was wondering if anyone could give me information regarding this edition; it seems to be slightly abridged, and I was wondering if it might be a school copy, etc. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I own naught but the arrangement of words on this page and (now) several copies of Les Miserables.
"This is i', 'Spector!" Gavroche exclaimed over the din of the rain. "I know i'!"
Inspector Javert nodded, for he knew it too. The Gorbeau tenement stood out brightly in his mind. It was often the site of criminal activities, almost seeming to breed unlawfulness and illegalities in its very being. He would certainly need more than one hand upon which to count the cases he had covered at Numbers 50-52, Boulevard de l'Hôpital. One, however, seemed to call out louder than the others in his mind, for its events were seemingly ingrained permanently into his head, into his thoughts.
Jean Valjean was of a curious sort of criminal, he had decided long ago. He defied the natural categories that Javert had so carefully worked out for himself. Why, Javert had discovered him to be masquerading as a benevolent businessman – turned – mayor! Then, he had found him in the spring of 1824, soon after condemning him as the convict Jean Valjean. But that time, Valjean had had a girl with him, a girl not older than seven or eight; she had been reported kidnapped, she had been reported the daughter of the woman Fantine. Javert knew the name, and he had decided to investigate the story. He had visited Montfermeil, on the hunt for answers, only to discover more questions. The innkeepers there, the Thénardiers, had reported that her "grandfather" had come to whisk her away, as grandfathers are often wont to do. This grandfather seemed to hold the strong name of Lambert, a name most decidedly not Valjean.
So it was back to Paris and catching pickpockets for Javert. Until he had heard of a strange sort of man, a beggar by his looks, who gave away francs as if they were wildflowers. This man lived in Saint-Médard and had a little girl with him, a little girl with eight years to her name, a little girl from Montfermeil. This name stood out in his mind like a beacon, and he had investigated further. A beadle – turned – beggar had some information, and Javert masqueraded as him for a day and night, sitting at the same spot he always had, waiting to catch a glance at the mysterious benefactor.
It was Jean Valjean, true and certain.
This created quite a paradox in his mind – Valjean had been reported dead! How could he be roaming Paris's streets, then? His mind clouded with doubts, he had followed the man back to his current residence: the Gorbeau tenement. Getting the landlady to talk was simple, and she did talk a lot. Javert paid for a room, so as to spy further upon the enigmatic, impossible man. Of course, the man caught on quickly, and he had disappeared by the next day. The landlady, though, had warned Javert. The chase was on, the game just beginning. That night, Javert waited for his prey behind the trees, hidden by darkness, with backup. He followed him, through the shadows, never losing sight. Such does the predator follow the prey.
His doubts, however, were still very strong. He would not arrest Valjean at that moment. He thought of possible plans, asking the man for his papers perhaps, but dismissed them. He still did not fully recognize the man as Jean Valjean, as much as his mind told him he ought to. He did not make arrests on the basis of follies.
At that moment, though, the light had streamed across the man's face and erased every hesitation from Javert's mind: it was Jean Valjean.
He went for reinforcements, but that cost him time. However, he soon went to the river, realizing that the convict would want to put distance between himself and the police. A smile on his face, he crossed the bridge, ready to ensnare his prey, close the trap upon his victim.
But he was nowhere to be found. Jean Valjean had effectively disappeared.
The rest, as some might say, was history. And here he was once more, at the Gorbeau tenement, ready to arrest in just a few hours' time.
Hopefully this would be rather more successful than before.
"'Spector?" Gavroche yelled above the rain. "You all fine?" He looked up to contemplate Javert, noticing the haggard face and tilt of the head.
"Yes, I am fine," Javert said. "I was just examining the building, deciding the best maneuver, from the outside. Remember, the officers may not have seen the inside of the Gorbeau tenement yet." He sighed, slipping his hands into his deep pockets. "Especially the younger ones, the ones new to the force."
"Those are the easy ones, ya know," Gavroche said. "To trick, a' least. Don't know much 'bout us yet."
"As I am very much aware," Javert said with a grimace. Too many times had cases turned up incomplete due to the incompetence of young officers with little experience. "Come with me; we are going to look around at the back of the building." He brought his hands back out of his pockets and crossed them across his chest. Javert, beckoning to Gavroche, walked around to the rear side of the tenement.
His eyes bright with careful observance, Javert brought his head up to gaze at the upper windows. He remembered Marius Pontmercy saying that the rooms were on the upper floor, so that is where he decided to look first. In fact, he could see movement in one of the windows, through the ragged curtain. The movement had a masculine look about him, and he was moving things about in his room. Probably the boy Pontmercy, then, preparing for the attack he would aid in. In the next room over, the curtain was even further ragged. Through it, he could discern several figures, arguing, it seemed, amongst themselves. He could make out three females, of varying ages, and one man.
Gavroche suddenly gave a start. "That's them, that's them!" he exclaimed.
"Your family? Your parents and sisters?" Javert inquired, though he already knew the answer.
"Yeah," Gavroche said. They both jolted, Gavroche more so than Javert, when they heard the bang of a door opening. Then, four more figures appeared in the upper room in addition to the Thénardiers.
"Yes, that would be them," Javert murmured, half to himself. "Patron – Minette has made its entrance. Almost all of the cast members are present and in place, save for the star; his part comes later." He nodded, to himself. "And our lines instruct to return to the station, for we have all that we need."
With a flick of his hand, Javert gestured for Gavroche to come. Into the rain they walked, walked back to the station.