I apologize for not updating sooner. To be perfectly honest, I thought that no one was reading this particular work anymore and thus suspended any further publication. With the recent movie, though, it seems that people have taken more interest in Monsieur l'Inspector than I would have previously thought.
Mme. Chenille came in to check on her patient a few hours later. Much to her relief, she found the inspector to be soundly asleep—with no murmuring or convulsions interrupting him as they had when he had first come to the hospital. Indeed, in her semi-expert opinion, he seemed to be regaining his health, which made her all the more worried about what should be done when he was well. She had seen enough lost souls to recognize one, even if the man did not see it himself, and knew what generally became of them if they were not set aright. The lucky turned to drink. The unlucky were generally found somewhere-be it an alley, a park, or, dare we say, a river-in a condition past any doctor's care. Unfortunately, this man did not seem to have a propensity for drink-even the healthful kind, she noted as she noticed the quinine water on the table, entirely untouched. The widow sighed and took the glass away, theorizing that she might be able to get him to drink it later under the guise of regular water, or perhaps some diluted juice.
"Madame?"
The voice startled her so much that she spilt a little of the water on her apron. She turned around to see Javert looking at her through half-closed eyes. "Yes, monsieur?" she said as evenly as she could.
"My pants…"
"Monsieur, you are in no condition to go anywhere with or without pants," Mme. Chenille replied before he could say another word. This was not entirely true. As we have already noted, his health was improving. However, it was to Mme. Chenille's, and consequently our inspector's, benefit that the man before her believe himself to be incapable of leaving the hospital—at least until she could find someplace else for him to go. She rubbed at the splash of quinine water on her apron before adding, "The best thing you can do is go back to sleep. I shall give you your pants as soon as they are ready." She did not add that they would be ready as soon as she deemed that he was ready. To say that would be to forfeit her plan entirely. Luckily, M. l'Inspector was in no mood to argue. He merely nodded and closed his eyes again.
Mme. Chenille smiled to herself and picked up the basket of clothes she had left in the room, wedging the glass of water in among the shirts. She had expected any argument regarding his clothing to last half an hour at least, not the paltry few seconds it had actually taken. She looked over at the dozing figure in the bed. Perhaps not all was lost with him after all.
Reviews appreciated as always!