"I would have suggested we choose a cooler day for this excursion, Javert, but… well, we are quickly running out of days." Valjean walked into the foyer of his house on rue Plumet, and Javert felt his eyebrows go up in surprise at the sight of the old man. Even when Javert had known Valjean as Monsieur Madeleine in Montreuil, Valjean had been inclined toward unassuming and dark dress in simple but quality fabrics. But today was much too hot and sunny for such attire. Thus, Valjean had come into the foyer dressed in a surprisingly fashionable summer ensemble of a medium-blue frock coat in silk with taupe trousers and polished black shoes. He had a simple knotted silk neckerchief round his neck, less constricting than alternative options. Still, he was dabbing perspiration from his forehead every now and then. For his part, Javert had maintained his usual style despite the heat, opting for a black wool frock coat over a crisp white shirt and a black cravat with black breeches and one of his decent pairs of boots. He dragged a thumb over the rim of his top hat and shrugged.
"It is Paris," he noted to Valjean a bit wryly. "Not so hot here, even today, as most summer days in Toulon. And there those summer days felt far more unpleasant, particularly for you, I'm certain."
He huffed then, looking Valjean up and down for a moment, and then Valjean shocked him by replying quietly,
"I can not imagine, Javert, that summers spent as a child in a prison and then summers spent as a soldier in Napoleon's army were much easier."
"Hmm. No." Javert gnawed his lip. "No matter. Such times are long past."
Valjean nodded slowly. "Yes. Such times are long, long past. I look only to the future."
Javert opened his mouth to say something in response, but before he could, he heard pattering footsteps descending the staircase. He bowed his head as Cosette appeared, panting a little as she rushed down into the foyer in a very pale green dress of lightweight muslin, her blonde hair dragged back into a chignon beneath her straw bonnet. She had white lace gloves on and clutched a green velvet drawstring bag, and Javert realised she, too, had dressed for the heat. Suddenly he found himself saying to her,
"If it is too unpleasant outside today, Cosette, we could go over there some other time and -"
She actually rolled her eyes at him then and reminded him gently, "The wedding is in but a few days' time, Javert, and you've got work tomorrow and the next day. I should like to see the house today, if you please, despite the heat. Thank you."
"Right. Well. The cab is waiting outside," Javert informed her. He held out his arm to escort her, and Cosette eagerly took hold of it. Javert started to lead Cosette from the house, and he was halfway down the front steps when he heard Valjean's voice from behind them say quietly,
"Do you know… I think I shall leave you two to it. I do not wish to intrude."
Cosette whirled around and flashed her father a confused look, her lovely brows furrowing at Valjean as she protested, "Papa! You must come and see the house!"
But Valjean met Javert's eyes for a moment, giving him a significant look, and Javert said nothing at all in response. Valjean gave Cosette a sad little smile from where he stood in the doorway and insisted,
"I do not like to go out in heat like this, my dear, and, anyway… it is your new home, not mine. I promise, I shall visit when you are married. Often. Today is a day for you to see it with your husband-to-be, not a day for your old father to meddle. Now go; do not keep the cab driver waiting."
Cosette flashed Javert an expression halfway between bewilderment and concern, as if searching for guidance in his eyes. Javert just cleared his throat and said quite firmly up to Valjean,
"If you're very certain. You're always welcome."
"I know I am. Thank you. I look forward to hearing all about it over dinner." Valjean nodded at the both of them, and then he turned to go back into the house, shutting the door behind him. Javert led Cosette out through the gate, leading her up to the four-wheeled cab with its gleaming wooden exterior and its well-groomed horses leading the way. He helped her inside and they arranged themselves opposite one another, opening the small windows to ventilate the cab, which started moving with rickety, heaving motions down the cobblestone streets to the sound of the horses' clopping hooves. Javert eyed Cosette, who still seemed a bit concerned as she noted,
"Papa was acting troubled. Is he unwell?"
"He is grieving you. That is all," Javert explained to her, and Cosette's rather adorable face scrunched with consternation.
"Grieving me! As though I am dying!"
Javert scoffed, trying not to sound condescending as he reminded her, "You are leaving his home in a scant few days. He feels like he is surrendering you to another man for good, and… well, he is."
"But he shall always be my Papa," Cosette huffed with a little pout, staring out the window. They passed a little bookshop, from which a woman and a man emerged and appeared to be immediately accosted by a Gypsy woman offering to tell their fortune. Javert pinched his lips; if he'd been on duty, he would have intervened. He struggled to mentally ignore the scene as he murmured to Cosette,
"Yes. He will always be your father, Cosette. But his dinners every evening will be quiet, and he is very well aware that even at a civil ceremony, handing you over to your husband marks not only the beginning of your marriage, but the end of him being your caretaker."
Javert watched then as Cosette's gaze watered heavily. A tear dribbled over the edge of her pale eye and drizzled down her full cheek. She reached up with her lace glove to swipe rather desperately at it, sniffling. Javert sat up straight, suddenly panicking a little.
"You do not wish to marry me," he surmised, but Cosette stared at him and clarified,
"I wish that we could stay together. All three of us. I wish that Papa could come to move into the house on rue de la Croix-Nivert. I'm sorry. I should not dare to suggest such things."
Javert's mouth fell open in surprise. He watched Cosette's face fall, watched her appear to struggle not to cry as her gloved fingers knit together anxiously. Javert glanced out the window of the cab and stared at the small but bustling flower market they were passing. With the heat of the early afternoon, the smell of the flowers was almost sickly sweet, but it was better than the sewer stink that the city often carried on summer days like today. Javert pursed his lips as the cab lurched on the cobblestone street, moving along and passing the market and a church whose bells were chiming one.
"I had a discussion with your father, just a few days ago," he said quietly to Cosette, "ensuring him that he would always be welcome, whether for tea or dinner, or to take you to the Luxembourg Gardens… whatever made both you and him happy. My goal in marrying you, Cosette, is by no means to tear you out of the arms of the man who promised your mother he would see to your happiness and has certainly followed through on that vow."
He flicked his eyes across the carriage to where Cosette sat. She was gazing at him, and she seemed serious as she asked him,
"Do you still hate him? My Papa? Do you still hate him for stealing bread to feed his sister and her son? Do you still hate him for breaking his parole and starting a new life, and then defying you and the law and going off to take me away as he promised my mother? Do you still hate him for hiding me away from you all those years?"
"No." Javert's stomach twisted almost painfully. The cab heaved on an uneven bit of road, and Cosette squealed in alarm. On instinct, Javert reached for her knee to steady her, and he kept his hand there, his eyes locked on hers as he shook his head again and said quietly but firmly, "No, Cosette, I do not hate your father, and… despite it all, he insists that he does not hate me. And we both love you - he loves you as a father, as a mentor and guide and caretaker… and I am ardently infatuated with your mind, your spirit, and your body. You must know, Cosette, that there is peace among all of us at last."
He felt his cheeks flush at having said that, felt his fingers tighten round his knee, for it was an odd thing for he himself to contemplate, after all the things that had passed through the years between himself and Jean Valjean. But it was true. He knew it to be true. So he nodded firmly, and he watched as Cosette licked her bottom lip, tipped her head, and contemplated,
"Perhaps we ought to invite him to live with us. Papa. In rue de la Croix-Nivert."
Javert smirked a little at her and shrugged. "I offered, as it happens."
She looked very surprised. "You did?"
Javert shrugged. "I thought perhaps you might want him around as often as possible. I suggested he could come live with us; my home is not as grand, but it is larger. I said I would relocate my own maid and he could bring Toussaint. He turned down my offer. Then I said… perhaps we ought to just stay in rue Plumet. Perhaps it would be too difficult on Cosette to leave, so perhaps we ought to stay."
Cosette's pale eyes rimmed red with emotion. She touched her lace-gloved fingers at her eyes again, seeming to daub away fresh tears. From outside the cab, a young boy of perhaps eight or nine shrieked at them, trying to get them to toss out some coins. Cosette startled, but Javert completely ignored the boy and waited for the cab driver to accelerate so the boy could not keep up. Cosette looked pained at the way they'd left the boy behind. Javert rolled his eyes a little and informed her stiffly,
"I know him. That boy. He never goes hungry; he's a clever little thing. He'll be perfectly fine."
It was true, too; Javert was quite familiar with the child, called Aristide. He knew this entire area well. The child, Aristide, was a shrewd little street urchin, like Gavroche had been, who very usually managed to fill his stomach. Just the same, Javert could see the strain in Cosette's eyes as she glanced out the window again, perseverating on the way the boy had called out to them, and he said in a quiet tone,
"I shall give the boy - Aristide - a coin or two the next time I see him, if you'd like."
"Oh. Thank you." Cosette curled her lips up, but still her eyes still seemed sad and distant. Javert sighed slowly and continued from where he had been speaking earlier.
"When I suggested, Cosette, both options to your father - that he come live on rue de la Croix-Nivert or that we remain on rue Plumet - he insisted that he and Toussaint stay where they are and that you come with me. He said he knew you would be happy with me, that he would see you often. And I promised him that if ever he changed his mind, arrangements could easily be made. And I told him that I love you, very much indeed."
Cosette's eyes went wide, and she whispered in a cracked little voice, "You told him that?"
Javert nodded crisply. "Yes, I did, because it is true, and I thought it very important that he know." Suddenly the cab lurched hard, coming to a stop, and Javert smiled a bit as he tipped his head. "We've arrived."
He paid the cab driver once he'd alighted from the carriage, and then he extended his hand to help Cosette out. She stared up in awe as Javert guided her up to 27 rue de la Croix-Nivert. As the cab drove away to the sound of horse hooves clopping, Javert flicked his eyes between Cosette and the house to gauge her reaction. He examined her pretty porcelain face beneath her straw bonnet and saw a sort of reverence and wonderment there, which surprised him. His house was perfectly respectable, but it was no mansion, no palace, and he cleared his throat a little anxiously as he took hold of her hand and led her up through the wrought iron gate, past the neatly trimmed hedges out front and up the path toward the door. 27 rue de la Croix-Nivert was a townhouse of grey limestone that had been built in 1805, the same year Javert had fought at Austerlitz with 'heroics' that had won him the highest accolades in France. The house had tall, narrow windows with dark green shutters, freshly painted, that matched the dark green painted wooden door.
As they approached the entrance, Javert felt a bit of anxiety take him over, knowing that this was the home he had to offer Cosette. It was as he had told her. He had indeed spoken at length with Valjean about his concern that Cosette might be heartbroken at leaving her adoptive father for marriage. After all, had not Valjean pushed for Cosette to marry only because he had been concerned for her welfare in the case of his death? But, no, Valjean had quietly but firmly said to Javert that he had been alone for many years, that he would not mind his solitude, that Cosette's happiness was paramount, that he was confident Javert would bring his daughter joy. He said it was only right that Javert and Cosette begin their married life on their own. Javert was no boy, Valjean had pointed out; he, too, had spent decades living independently. If Javert would grant Valjean visits to Cosette every now and then, that would be more than enough. Javert had agreed contentedly. But now he stood at the entrance to his own house, to the house that would become his shared home with Cosette in a scant few days' time, and his heart picked up as he wondered if she was regretting accepting his proposal now that they were here.
"It is a beautiful house already," Cosette gushed, taking Javert by surprise. She gestured to the painted door and smiled at him. "I quite like this shade of green."
He choked out a little laugh and chastised her, "You needn't flatter me. If there is something you want changed -"
"I like it," she nodded again. "Will you take me inside?"
Javert nodded, pinching his lips. "Yes. Of course."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the brass skeleton key that locked the door. He put it into the lock, twisted it, and felt the door unlock with a clunk. He pulled the door open and extended his arm, inviting Cosette to go inside first, and then he followed her in and shut the door behind them. Once they were inside, he pulled off his top hat and hung it on the tall, wooden rack just inside, accepting Cosette's straw bonnet when she pulled it off and putting it up with his hat as he murmured to her,
"Isabelle is not here today… she came and cleaned yesterday, but since there's no cooking to do…"
"Isabelle is the maid?" Cosette asked carefully, and Javert nodded at her.
"Yes. She has worked well for me for around two years now. She's a widow from Lille; her husband passed a few years ago and she came to Paris to earn her keep. She's probably sixty years of age or so. Keeps her head down and gets things done. She's a fair cook and keeps the place quite tidy. She's matter-of-fact, but I'm sure you'll get on fine with her."
"I'm sure." Cosette nodded and then turned to look about as if absorbing some sort of miracle, her jade eyes widening as her fingers brushed over her mussed chignon. It was stiflingly hot in here, the stagnant summer air having made this place feel like a veritable oven, but Cosette did not complain. She slowly strode around the small foyer, with its polished herringbone hardwood floors and the narrow but curved staircase that led up to the next level. Her face cast upward to see the Venetian bronze chandelier, decorated with a few teardrop crystals and connected a few years earlier to the city's innovative gas lighting system. She glanced at the intricately framed mirror on the wall near the stairs, and her fingertips dusted along the coral-coloured striped wallpaper before studying the objects on the side table that Javert had recently purchased to try and please her. Her lace gloves ran over the walnut bracket clock he'd bought - imported from London - and then she picked up and examined the hand-painted porcelain figurine of a lion. Finally, she let her fingers settle on the rim of the small crystal bowl of fragrant herbs and dried flowers, and finally, she turned her face a little to stare at Javert for a long moment. He just shrugged a bit and held his hands up. He said nothing at all, finding himself unable to ask her what she thought of the entrance to the house, and she seemed similarly dumbstruck. At last, Javert just gestured a bit vaguely and muttered,
"The… dining room… that way."
"Yes. Of course." Cosette's voice sounded thick as she followed him out of the foyer. He showed her the dining room in another spell of long, contemplative silence as she took her time exploring. She was not an idiot; she did not need him to announce to her that the long oak table and matching chairs were for eating, or that the silver candelabras were for ensuring one could see one's meal. She did not need him to tell her that the lace tablecloth was very fine; she could see that for herself. She was more than capable of seeing that Javert had recently had the walls in here painted a pale turquoise. She was not blind. She nodded very quickly and flashed him a nervous-looking smile, and he guided her by her hand to the small library, where she discerned that the shelves held all sorts of classics, alongside legal texts and history books. Finally, Javert did feel compelled to speak, because Cosette was about to leave the room without noticing something.
"I have already moved all of your romance books here," he blurted, and she whirled around, her face twisting strangely. Javert nodded and touched a place on his wide shelves. "I've brought them… from rue Plumet. And I had another crate of similar titles brought from the nearby booksellers."
Cosette chewed her lip for a moment and then asked thickly, "Won't such silly little stories ruin a room like this?"
Javert scoffed. "Hardly. I'm no scholar."
The next room he showed her was the main living space, the salon, which was papered in brown and taupe with cream upholstered divans and brown leather chairs before a stout fireplace. Javert fretted for a moment and then said to Cosette,
"It remains, I fear, far too masculine a space. I can change it for you."
But Cosette shook her head and plopped down playfully onto one of the chairs. She was so short that her feet didn't come close to reaching the ground, so she swung them a bit. She looked like she was going to make a sarcastic comment about the room's decorations, but then she swayed a little where she sat and blinked a few times. Flinging herself down so quickly in the muggy and suffocating heat, it seemed, had affected her rather dramatically. Javert rushed to take hold of her shoulder, and he said firmly,
"Cosette. Cosette!"
"Sorry," she seethed, sounding frustrated as she whispered, "Why women must be tortured with corsets and endless layers of petticoats and skirts on hot days such as these, particularly when we have just finished… oh… no, I mustn't speak of that. I'm sorry."
Suddenly her cheeks flushed scarlet red and she sniffled a little, bowing her face, and Javert crouched down before her, feeling quite concerned. He tipped up her face, seeing that she was sheened with sweat. He reached around to touch at her thin green muslin dress; she'd soaked through her corset and the dress' material with sweat, as well. Javert scowled deeply and realised she was severely overheated and likely had not had sufficient water, and she'd also intimated, with some degree of embarrassment, that she had recently finished up her monthly bleeding. That certainly would not help a woman who was overdressed in a heat wave and dehydrated. Javert puffed out an irritated breath, and Cosette worried in a blurry sort of mumble,
"You're cross with me. I apologise."
"Do not be ridiculous," Javert snapped, far too harshly. He shook his head. "We need to get you out of at least some of these clothes at once, and you need to drink quite a lot of water, or you shall become very ill, Cosette."
She raised her gaze to him, looking very surprised. "Get me out of my -"
He rolled his eyes. "Now is not the time for anyone to pretend to be scandalised. Our wedding is in a scant few days. You are sweating through your dress, you've not had enough water, and you've recently bled, which can drain you of strength. It is a recipe for disaster, and I'll not have it. Your health and safety are my responsibility."
Cosette gave him a bit of a questioning look at that, but Javert squared his jaw. He was marrying her because he bore her an enormous amount of affection and he was wildly attracted to her, but he was also marrying her to protect her. He had promises to keep. He put his right arm beneath Cosette's knees and the other behind her back, heaving himself off of his creaky knees with just a little struggle from his protesting old body. He swept out of the sitting room with her and hurried toward the stairs, and as he ascended, Cosette stared up at him, a bit bleary-eyed, and mumbled,
"You did say you would make excuses to carry me around our new home."
"So I did," he nodded. He hurried down the corridor with her, passing the guest bedroom he'd outfitted for Valjean's use, with its pale blue wallpaper, hardwood bed and blue and white quilt, walnut writing desk and wardrobe, and blue curtains. He passed the second, smaller spare bedroom with its simple single iron bed, off-white walls, wicker chair, and pine wardrobe. The door to the bathing chamber was shut, but Javert had renovated the inside to accommodate Cosette's needs. Now it had a white porcelain tub with roses painted on it, with a wooden stool alongside for Isabelle to help with the bathing. There was a dark wooden cabinet to store towels and soaps and oils and combs and a large framed mirror on the painted scarlet walls. But right now, Javert strode quickly into the master bedroom with Cosette in his arms, walking right over the threshold and into the space, placing her on the brand-new bed he'd acquired that had been delivered just two days earlier.
Cosette huffed and let out a slightly distressed sound as Javert carefully placed her upon the crimson and cream boutis quilt he'd purchased. She tipped her head back a little and glanced around the room with half-lidded eyes, seeming lost between her dizzy discomfort and a bit of curiosity as it registered that this was the bedroom she was to share with Javert for their marriage. He let her take in the sturdy four-poster bed with the crimson velvet curtains to accent the boutis quilt and pillowcases. The walls were newly painted cream and had framed paintings of deep red flowers and etchings of naval ships upon them, and the twin wardrobes and the wash stand were of the same mahogany as the bed. Cosette stared for a moment toward the open window with its deep red curtains, and her lips curled up into a weak little smile as she mused softly,
"What a pleasant house this is."
Javert watched a lone tear drizzle from one of her eyes, but he noticed her breath was coming quick and shallow, and he frowned deeply as he studied her face. She was always very beautiful, but her skin was positively ghostly white right now except for the patches of vivid scarlet on her cheekbones, with dark circles beneath her pale eyes. She was drenched in sweat, but her full lips looked a bit cracked and dry. Javert reached down to dust the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, and he told her gently,
"I shall fetch a drink for you at once, and then we shall get your dress off of you, at least, and let you rest for a little while."
She nodded a little at him, and Javert turned on his heel to go, rushing out of the master bedroom and dashing down the corridor, making haste toward the basement of the house to where Isabelle's kitchen was.
"My goodness," Cosette murmured, having pulled herself up against the pillows in the crimson and cream bed. Her thin fingers trembled as Javert passed over a simple glass tumbler of fragrant solution to her and set the pewter pitcher full of the stuff on the small table beside the bed. She marvelled at the liquid in her glass before sipping, and then her sunken eyes went wide with wonder. She smiled. "It's good!"
Javert shrugged. "My Gypsy mother told me of the recipe, and apparently her mother told her of it. I found out first-hand, in times of bad intestinal sickness and the like during the wars and at Toulon, that it is most helpful to rehydrate the body. It is made by boiling water with infused mint leaves and adding a good amount of honey and lemon juice and some salt. Drink up. I've got more."
Cosette was eager then, sipping almost inelegantly from the tumbler as though she'd never had anything to drink at all. She drank and drank until the glass was empty, and when the liquid was gone, Javert took it from her and filled it again, letting Cosette go more slowly this time. She finished her second glass just a bit and a time, one sip followed by another, and when she'd emptied the second tumbler, she seemed exhausted. Javert wordlessly took the glass from her and set it on the table, scolding her softly,
"It has been warm these last few days. If you've been bleeding, you must drink enough water. Fainting will be the least of your concerns."
"Please. You will humiliate me, speaking of such wretched things." Cosette sounded a little tearful then, and Javert pinched his lips, almost irritated. He reached for her chin and tipped it up so she would meet his gaze, and he raised his eyebrows as he said to her,
"I have watched men carve out one another's intestines in street fights, Mademoiselle. I have seen cannonballs rip men straight through. I have seen bullets send men's brains splattering. I have watched women solicit men for prostitution on the street, and I have seen them follow through with the act in alleyways in graphic detail. I have seen starving children take their final breaths. I have escorted a dying whore to the hospital when I was meant to arrest her. I have taken a wine bottle to the face after I angered a pimp. Please, Cosette. I have lived fifty-four winters and I have the life experience to show it. You are about to become my wife, and I care for you. If you will kindly spare both of us any pretence of modesty henceforth, I would appreciate it."
Cosette just stared at him in wide-eyed silence for a moment, until at last, she gave him a conciliatory nod and then whispered, "You were going to help me out of this sweat-soaked dress and my corset, I think, so that I could try and rest for a little while."
Javert helped her off the bed then, his fingers fumbling more than he would have liked them to do as he struggled a bit with the tiny buttons going down the back of Cosette's pale green muslin gown. Why, he wondered, were women clad in such obscenely ornate and multi-layered outfits day in and day out? How did they move? He felt a bit of a buffoon for a moment as he helped Cosette out of the dress, trying not to tear the delicate fabric while still yanking her out of the sleeves and tight bodice and waist. He heaved it over her head, but in doing so, utterly destroyed her hairstyle; her chignon came unpinned and her long blonde hair tumbled down.
"I'm sorry," Javert muttered, bending down and snatching her hairpins from the wooden floor. Cosette laughed softly and shook her head, saying helplessly,
"Oh. Now I'm in trouble. Papa and Toussaint will know I've been up to no good."
Javert scowled. "You've not been up to no good; you've been feeling unwell, and I will ensure they know that was the case. Please lie back down before you get dizzy."
"My corset?" Cosette suggested, and Javert let out an irritated sound as he tossed her gown over the foot of the bed and set the hairpins on the bedside table. He came to stand behind Cosette and informed her,
"You ladies wear far too many clothes."
"I agree," she said primly. "Perhaps I should wear fewer clothes in protest of social convention."
Javert snorted. He stared at the back of her then, gulping heavily. He frowned a little as he took in the sight of her silhouette, realising that women's undergarments had changed very substantially since the last time he himself had been intimate with a woman. Not that he was being intimate with Cosette today; he was helping her not feel faint. Well, that was what he was trying to do. But he was seeing her in her undergarments, and her undergarments looked… different… from what he remembered seeing on women around the time of Napoleon's downfall. Javert chomped his lip hard, suddenly vividly remembering being a man of perhaps thirty and having a half-hearted romance that had lasted two months or so and had involved a few brief nights together with a woman when he'd first gone back to Toulon. The woman had worn very simple undergarments beneath her Empire-waisted dresses, and little half stays. Nothing like this, nothing like what Cosette wore now with her gigot sleeves and her full skirts, with the long corset she had on that shaped her.
Javert felt old, all of a sudden. But he jolted to attention and put his fingers to the knot at the centre of the back of Cosette's corset and pulled gently at it until the knot came undone, and he used one hand to hold the corset closed whilst he worked his way up from the bottom and then down from the top to loosen it. He had no intention of removing the entire garment. He just wanted to give Cosette room to breathe, to relax. He tugged the ties open a bit more until the natural-coloured cotton drill corset was properly loose. Then he realised his fingers were shaking badly on the ties, and he let his hands move to settle at Cosette's waist as he asked in a low murmur,
"Better, a little?"
"Yes. Thank you," she whispered. "I'll lie down now."
"I'll pour you some more of that, erm… refreshment." Javert cleared his throat as he watched Cosette kick off her low, simple slipper-like shoes and then guide herself back up onto the bed. Her fingers danced over the crimson and cream boutis quilt, and she seemed amazed at the sight and feel of it. Javert handed her the glass of the drink his mother had taught him to brew up in his childhood, a simple recipe intended to stave off and cure mild illnesses and to help combat fatigue from heat. Whether the idea was unique to Gypsies, Javert did not know. It had helped him a good deal through the years. He watched Cosette gratefully sip from her glass, and he strode across the bedroom to go toss open the two narrow windows to get in as much air as he could. Then he came and considered perching himself on the side of the bed, as he and Cosette often did with one another, but reconsidered. He bent down and pulled off his own tall, shiny black boots and silently climbed up atop the blankets on the other side of the bed from Cosette, and as she set down her empty glass, she flashed him a look of shock.
"I'm not dressed," she whispered, and Javert rolled his eyes.
"I have absolutely no intention of doing anything untoward with you when you are not feeling well, Cosette. I only mean to lie beside you, if you do not mind."
"Oh." She nodded a little. Then she seemed frustrated as she stared at the ceiling and noted, "I am ignorant. Stupid. You are older, more experienced. You knew precisely how to unlace my corset. That means… that means that you…"
Javert felt his brows furrow as a bit of indignation came over him, and he pushed himself up onto one elbow. "It means what, exactly?"
Her face, which had been mostly white from her slightly anaemic appearance before, now flushed deeply with embarrassment. She flicked her eyes to him and shrugged where she lay. "I suppose it must mean that you have unlaced many corsets."
Javert scoffed. "I fear you would not make a very good police inspector, Mademoiselle, leaping to conclusions in such an unreasonable way as that."
She looked a bit wounded, but he tipped his head and held up a hand defensively as he told her,
"I served in the army, and then as a prison guard, and then as a policeman. Do you think I am not particularly skilled with knots, with tying and untying things of all sorts, at this point in my life?"
Now Cosette looked befuddled, and her full lips parted and quivered. Javert continued,
"I will have you know that I have not personally removed clothing from a woman in any sort of personal capacity since…" He hesitated, putting his lips into a stern, straight line and then saying in a bit of a growl, "Since before you were born, actually."
"Oh. I see." Cosette seemed like she'd get sick all of a sudden. Her fingers pulled at one another anxiously atop her stomach, and she panted where she lay before finally whispering in a crackled tone, "Well. I am sorry. I did not mean to accuse you of -"
"No matter. It is a difficult thing," Javert admitted, tossing up his shoulders. "You are jealous because your mind cooks up visions of the years your husband lived without you, and you think those years must have included a great many women, perhaps some true love affairs. It is not an unreasonable thing to think, not of a man my age. And I could hardly begrudge you envy about it. I would be a hypocrite. For me, it is bad enough you already loved one man, and he…"
He trailed off then, feeling like a complete fool as his face went very warm. Marius Pontmercy. The silly boy was dead. What did he matter now? But Cosette had cared deeply enough for Marius that she had intended on marrying him, and Valjean had risked his life to go to the barricades to try and save the boy, had dragged both of them threw the sewers, had taken the boy to his grandfather's for care. All for Cosette, all because Cosette loved Marius. Suddenly Javert felt his hands gripping into fists, rather unexpectedly, and he muttered,
"None of it matters now."
Cosette reached up to stroke at his jaw, which made him shiver a little, and she said quite determinedly, "The past is in the past. Only today and tomorrow and all the days after that matter. And those days are for you and I."
"Hmm." Javert studied her then, seeing the way her long, wavy blonde hair that had fallen loose from her chignon on accident was now framing her like a halo on the silk pillowcase. He reached to stroke her there and whispered, "I'm sorry; I did not mean to…"
She shook her head. "I ought not to have brought any of it up."
But Javert choked out a little noise and finished, "I was apologising for mussing your hair."
"Oh!" Cosette giggled a little. "I am usually the one apologising for making a grand mess of your hair. Today, I suppose, it was your turn."
Javert felt a bit overcome, suddenly, from where he was perched beside her. She was unfathomably beautiful, he thought, lying here like this. All the time, she was so very pretty, but right now… right now he could hardly stand the sight of her. He fought himself, entirely on instinct, leaning onto one arm for support and using the other to stroke at every bit of her skin that he could. So much of her hand been revealed by taking off her pale green muslin dress and loosening her corset so she could cool off and relax. She still had on one corded petticoat and a short-sleeved chemise beneath the corset, but her lithe, smooth arms were bare, and most of her decolletage was revealed.
Javert dragged his fingertips and knuckles everywhere he could, stroking from her shoulder all the way down her arm until he reached her wrist, then going back up again, over the lacy sleeve of the chemise and up past her neck until he could caress her jaw. Then he grazed her collarbone and the hollow of her thin neck, the small swell of the top of one breast. He dragged his fingers through her long blonde tresses and felt the silkiness of her hair texture. He spent so long touching her, feeling her, that it took him a little while to realise just what he was doing to the both of them.
After several minutes of being touched like this, Javert could hardly see or hear or think because of the thick haze of arousal. His cock ached and throbbed so badly inside his breeches that the fabric was struggling. Cosette, for her part, had her back arched a bit, and her fingers were grappling with the boutis quilt as she seemed to struggle to stay awake. Her breath came in ragged, desperate pants that almost worried Javert. What was he doing? Had he not brought her into this room and given her a special drink and loosened her garments because she'd been dizzy and overheated and hadn't had enough to drink? And now he was working her up? Protective, indeed.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, yanking his hand from her, but Cosette gasped when he retreated, and she reached out to snatch at his hand.
"N-No! Please don't stop," she begged, shocking Javert. Then she stared at him for a moment, and an odd sort of determination came over her. Her pale eyes flashed almost wildly, and for the briefest moment, she did not seem like the very youthful songbird Javert was accustomed to seeing, but something much more fierce. She squeezed at his hand and whispered carefully, "Take me. Please."
Javert tipped his head. He stroked at her fingers, sighing. He bent to kiss her forehead, still damp from sweat, and whispered against her skin,
"You do not know what you are asking me to do."
"Yes, I do," Cosette protested in a hiss. Javert touched his lips to her skin again, pulling his hand from hers just so he could comb his fingers through her blonde hair. He brushed his lips against hers and murmured carefully,
"It's two days, Cosette. Two days. Patience."
"I am in this bed now. With you. And, anyway, I am already mostly undressed."
"Those are really quite terrible arguments for a thing such as this," Javert scolded her, "all other things considered… such as the fact that the wedding is only two days away, and that you were not feeling well earlier, and that you father would murder me if he knew that I -"
"Would he? Would Papa really do such a thing? I do not think so," Cosette huffed, pushing Javert's face back from hers. She had scrunched her face up quite indignantly, and Javert could not help but think she was a bit charming and delightful in appearance even when she was very cross. He struggled not to kiss her again, to keep his face steady and stern and to listen as she huffed, "I have consumed quite a lot of your… your potion , Javert. It has rejuvenated me quite a lot."
He cocked up an eyebrow. "I'm glad to hear that."
"And it has helped, really, getting off my dress and loosening my corset."
"Good," Javert said in a snap. Then he tipped his head and informed her, "I do not suppose that you would feel better, as regards fatigue and whatnot, after the sort of activity you are asking of me."
Cosette's face flushed very red. Her eyes flicked about. "What do you mean? Toussaint made it seem like all I am meant to do is… well, don't I just sort of… lie here? And you just… put it in. And… move it. And then… well, it'll hurt the first time, I know, but I do not want it to hurt on my wedding night, which is part of why I am asking you to do it now. And… surely it isn't so exhausting to just lie here and let you move it about."
Javert's jaw dropped a bit then. "Erm…"
He pushed himself up a little and gulped. Finally, he let out a very long, slow breath, his head aching a little as he tried to figure out how to explain all of this without sounding like an abominable cur. He touched at his brow and said gently,
"Well. I have known, to be certain, men and women who do indeed carry of the act in the way you are describing. Or… in a manner relatively close to that. But, erm… that usually happens when the woman wants absolutely nothing to do with it. Sometimes whores want nothing to do with it, but they pretend, so they're more eager, but… that's beside the point. Anyway. Yes, it's true that a woman might just lie there and endure it without much participation. But, erm… that is not at all what I had in mind for you and I, Cosette, so…"
He studied her face, and he watched her teeth pull anxiously at her full bottom lip for a moment before she asked him in a curious little voice, "Is it something like when I was atop you and you touched me? And I could feel firmness beneath me?"
He nodded. "It could be. Yes. There are… many ways. I could be behind you. You can lie on your back and put your legs up a bit. We can both lie on the bed and I can enter you from behind, or whilst facing one another, gently."
"Wait." Cosette reached up to put her fingers to his lips, and Javert froze. Cosette nodded, almost urgently. "Yes. Yes, that sounds perfect. I would like that, and it won't exhaust me, I shouldn't think."
Javert rolled his eyes a bit, reaching for the fingers she had put to his lips and kissing them before lowering them. He shook his head and gave her a chastising look.
"I am not going to take your virginity today, Cosette."
But then, something strange started whirring through his mind, an odd series of calculations of a string of thoughts that seemed like they were not his own. Cosette had only very recently finished bleeding. That meant she was not in the middle of her monthly cycle, and though Javert was hardly an expert with such things, he had spent more than enough time around men who were to have been warned about when to spend time with women to avoid putting children on them. Right after or right before their bleeding, he'd been told, and even then, withdrawing, was one's best hope for avoiding a pregnancy. So right now, today, was actually a decent date on the calendar.
Then, Javert's mind spun with the notion that she'd been right about her father. Jean Valjean knew perfectly well by now that Cosette and Javert spent all sorts of time alone, sometimes in bedchambers. He was many things, Valjean, but he was not stupid. He was very well aware that Cosette and Javert had been physical in capacities that society would have deemed utterly scandalous. And they were here, at Javert's house, completely unchaperoned, days before their wedding. What did Valjean think was going to happen?
Javert huffed, staring at Cosette, at her long and lovely blonde hair, her wide doe-like eyes, her round cherubic cheeks and full lips, and at last, he decided that he could not deny himself what she was asking him to give her. They both wanted it, didn't they? She would be his wife in less than forty-eight hours' time. And she had now indeed had plenty to drink and had stripped down to cool off. So surely, if he just took himself out from his breeched and hiked up her skirts and was very slow, very gentle with her… if he was easy and cautious… surely he could protect her and also help her enjoy herself.
"I, erm… I'm just going to… fetch myself a cloth," he murmured, and suddenly Cosette's face lit up as she seemed to realise there was some hope of getting her way on this. She hesitated as Javert heaved himself off the bed and went over to the wash table, and she asked him in a meek little voice,
"Shall I take off my pantalettes?"
Javert felt his face go hot but nodded as he took a folded linen cloth from the stack on the mahogany wash table and turned back to the bed. Cosette wriggled then until she had untied and pushed down her pantalettes, kicking them to the end of the bed toward her discarded green muslin dress. Javert let out a shaking little breath as he stood beside the bed with Cosette eyeing him, a look of hunger painted on her features. Javert felt a bit self-conscious as he pulled off his stiflingly hot black frock coat and yanked off his cravat, throwing them much more carelessly than was typical for him in the general direction of Cosette's clothing. He debated whether to take anything else off, but he finally settled on just untucking his crisp white shirt and then beginning to unbutton his black breeches. He slowly climbed back onto the bed, but he paused when he saw the look of mild terror in Cosette's eyes, and he realised at once that he must look like a predator stalking its prey as he approached her. He adjusted his stance and tried to soften his facial features, and he flashed her a careful little smile as he very cautiously moved to adjust himself above her. She gazed up at him and whispered,
"I thought you were going to lie beside me."
Javert nodded and hummed, "It will be a bit easier if I carefully enter you like this and then adjust us to the side."
"Oh. All right. I'm so sorry; I know nothing of any of this." Cosette's eyes watered where she lay. Javert curled up half his mouth and shook his head a bit as he bent to touch his lips to her cheekbone.
"Do not worry, little songbird. I will protect you, and I will love you, so all will be well."
"Oh," Cosette gasped, and Javert felt her hands fly up to take hold of the sides of his head, her fingertips burrowing into his carefully combed grey hair. He moved his mouth to hers and found himself kissing her deeply then for a long moment, his mouth searching hers, coursing over the roof of her mouth, drawing her lip between his teeth, grunting from the bottom of his throat. When he finally pulled away from her, his breath warm against her lips, he could tell she was remarkably eager, and something compelled him to reach with one hand and go up under her white corded petticoat. He dragged his palm smoothly up from her knee, along the inside of her thigh, and all the while Cosette moaned helplessly against Javert's mouth. The windows were open. It was mid-afternoon. Someone would hear. He did not care.
He was only a little surprised when his fingers were greeted by a sodden, swollen womanhood that was pulsing at the ready, anxious to be conquered. Javert groaned as his hand explored her there, toying with her sensitive nub, gliding around her slick folds, carefully delving a bit into her enthusiastic entrance. He buried his face into the crook of Cosette's neck as she stroked his hair, as his cock begged him for attention, and he found himself grinding his own hips in a rhythm, very much on instinct, not realising at first that he was moving in a way that was mimicking coitus with Cosette. He wanted her, he thought. He wanted her now.
"Why… why do you call me that?" he heard Cosette's voice ask him in a frantic gasp, and he pulled back, completely baffled and breathless as he managed to meet her hooded eyes.
"What?" he snapped, a bit rudely, and she choked out,
"Songbird. You call me a songbird, often. Why?"
Javert shrugged. "I'm sorry. I won't -"
"I don't mind," Cosette hurried to tell him. "But… why?"
Javert gnashed his teeth and screwed his eyes shut in desperation. Was this really the time to be discussing such things? Finally, he put his lips beneath Cosette's ear and, with his mouth against her damp skin, he murmured,
"It is because… for fifty-four years, Cosette, all I heard, all the world over, was cannon fire and screaming, chaos and rage, anarchy and disorder, or miserable silence. Until I heard your voice. And then… birdsong. So…"
"Oh." She sounded just a little tearful at that, and he began kissing the spot where he had planted his mouth, just because it felt like the right thing to do. He dragged his lips around, thrusting his tongue with just enough pressure to elicit gasps and little moans, nibbling a bit, suckling. Suddenly, he felt the tie at the back of his hair being pulled loose, felt fingers coursing through his shoulder-length grey hair, and he chuckled against Cosette's neck. He moved his lips up to her neck and warned her in a growl,
"What a terrible habit we have, you and I, of destroying one another's carefully styled hair. But your loose hair was an accident; you just pulled my queue undone entirely on purpose. Perhaps there ought to be consequences for such incivility before a marriage has even begun."
Cosette giggled like mad at that, and when Javert pulled back to stare at her, cocking up an eyebrow, she gave him a taunting little look and dared him,
"You don't have it in you."
Javert scowled. "What do you mean?"
Cosette pouted, though it looked like she was trying hard not to laugh again. "You couldn't punish me, not even if you wanted to. Not for such a thing as toying with your hair, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. "
Javert's mouth fell open and he went silent. Ordinarily, being mocked, being insulted and ridiculed, was one of the most infuriating experiences Javert was forced to endure. But Cosette didn't mean it. Not really. She was just playing with him; it was a game. And she was right. He knew that much. He very much enjoyed the feel of her hands in his hair, because he took extraordinarily good care of his hair so that it always looked neat and proper. He would never let anyone toy with it aside from her. His cheeks flushed hot now, seeing the defiant look on her face, the way her eyes were narrowed at him and her adorable little mouth was pouting. He chomped his lip and hissed at her,
"You will not experience the peak of your pleasure until I grant you permission."
Cosette looked alarmed of all of a sudden, and she stammered, "B-But how am I meant to keep from -"
Javert scoffed. "You said I did not possess the ability to punish you for toying with my hair. I am an inspector of the Paris Police. I possess the capacity to punish just about anyone for anything, Mademoiselle. You will not find your completion until I grand you permission. I assure you that restraining yourself is possible with willpower. Understood?"
He had kept his voice harsh and clinical; he had spoken to her the way he spoke to criminals who were under arrest. It was a completely different tone than he usually used with Cosette, and she looked vaguely frightened. But she nodded quickly, and Javert adjusted his hand beneath her corded petticoat, staring straight into her eyes with a cold, dark gaze, he reminded her gravely,
"Not until I permit it."
Cosette's hands grappled at the silk quilt then, and she licked her lips rather frantically, because she was still soaking wet and swollen between her legs. Her arousal had not faded one bit. If anything, her conversation with Javert had only inflamed her apparent activation. Javert used his fingers to work in a careful, steady, insistent rhythm. He pulsed three fingers around her womanhood, sliding around her folds and teasing her actual entrance. Meanwhile, his thumb worked on her very sensitive nub with determined circular movements, easily lubricated by how slick she was. As his hand moved, Javert bent down and made a rather aggressive move like he was about to kiss Cosette square on the mouth, but he stopped just short, and she moaned helplessly at the denial. He kept his lips a hair's breadth from hers and whispered,
"It won't hurt. It won't hurt because you are wet, and your body is ready… so it will feel good when I put myself inside of you."
"Ohhh…" Cosette's back arched, and it was as if her torso was seeking out his. Her hands pawed anxiously at his white shirt, at his shoulders, at his neck. She seemed nervous to touch his hair again, so he smirked and kissed her lips lightly, deepening his touch between her legs as he instructed her,
"Go on, then. You've already taken the tie out. You may as well play with my hair. No one is allowed to play with it but you. No one else is allowed to touch me but you; no one else has in so very many years, and I have never, ever loved a woman before, Cosette, and -"
"Oh! Oh! " She yelped against his mouth, her hands flying up and cinching so hard in his hair that it almost hurt. She wrenched his face against hers, and Javert found himself caught up in a deep kiss with her that he did not mind one bit. He was aware, distantly, of the way the walls of her womanhood were clamping erratically around his fingers. She was finishing; she'd had a climax despite him explicitly telling her not to. Well. He was not going to scold her for it. He was not angry. Not one bit. He groaned loudly into her mouth and relished the feel of her ecstasy, of her body convulsing just a little as fluids soaked his fingers and her hands shook in his hair. Finally she turned her head away and whispered desperately,
"I'm sorry."
"I love you," he whispered in response, and when she flicked her eyes back to him, giving him an impish little look, he smirked a bit and reached between them. He wiped his hand on the cloth he'd fetched for himself and then started to push his breeches down a bit as he asked her cautiously, "Are you very certain?"
"Yes," Cosette nodded, and Javert realised this was somewhat like what he had told Valjean about marrying Cosette. "I am very certain."
He gave her a single nod then, pulling out his cock, which was throbbing and achy with arousal to the point that he had to snatch his hand away quickly when he started to adjust himself. He seethed through his teeth, his head spinning.
"What's the matter?" Cosette asked worriedly, and Javert hesitated before admitting,
"It is a young man's curse, usually… although, men my age are typically not afflicted with decades of abstinence that would inflict this sort of -"
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." Cosette still sounded very worried, and Javert gulped before warning her,
"It will not last long. Not today. Not… erm. I will have to build up my stamina again. Usually, it is very young men new to business such as this who struggle with endurance with women; they often finish before they know what's hit them. As it happens, it is not at all uncommon for men my age to be unable to achieve rigidity at all. So, I am actually in rather an odd situation."
"Oh." Cosette grinned broadly and shrugged. "I don't mind. We shall practise and practise and practise and practise until you have worked your stamina back up again."
Javert choked out a laugh and nodded at her. "What a very good wife you shall be. Clever, pure of heart, beautiful, and eager. As though my colleagues did not already have reason to loathe me out of jealousy."
Cosette laughed a little and fanned herself melodramatically. "You flatter me, Monsieur. But now, I think, no matter how long it lasts, I should like to experience my first, erm… my first…"
Her gleeful playfulness dissolved a little, and Javert gave her a reassuring little look. He realised that he would not probably last long enough for things like changing positions, for starting atop her and then rolling onto their sides. He had not meant for her to just lie there and take it today, but he felt about to burst. At least, he thought, he had made her feel some pleasure first. He muttered a bit helplessly,
"Again, I'm sorry, Cosette, that this will be brief. It will all last longer soon enough."
He knelt between her legs and pushed her corded petticoat up around her hips, and as he took in the sight of her womanhood with his own eyes, the problem of his excited cock only got worse. He tried not to touch it as his eyes lingered there for a moment, looking at the slick folds and the entrance he'd just touched to completion. He let out a small groan, unable to keep from dusting his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, and he murmured,
"Beautiful."
"It couldn't possibly be," Cosette sounded embarrassed, and she squirmed where she lay, but Javert gave her a serious look and kissed her knee. He stroked her all the way from her ankle, up over her white silk stocking and her bare thigh until he reached the flesh of her backside. He squeezed a bit there and said in a low voice,
"You are beautiful."
Cosette tipped her head back, her long hair splaying about her. Suddenly Javert was not exactly sorry for the way he'd accidentally pulled the pins from her chignon. He sighed shakily and moved to aim the tip of his cock toward her entrance, unable to stave off the desperate need to be inside of her for even a moment longer. Cosette sucked in air hard at the feel of him there, at even the slightest push, but he knew she would be fine. She was more than ready; she was swollen and soaked. He could feel her walls pulsating just a little around him. She was desirous and her body was keen. This was not the same at all as some bride on her wedding day who had no idea what was happening and no attraction toward her new husband and would be dry and unwilling. Of course, in such situations, there would be horrible pain and mental misery. But this was not that at all.
Javert adjusted himself, leaning down until he could cradle Cosette carefully. His grey hair, the hair that he had jokingly scolded her and 'punished' her for pulling loose, hung around his face in straight shoulder-length cascades. Cosette's fingers went up and danced a bit distractedly in Javert's hair, as if she had precisely no idea what to do with her hands right now, and he just let her touch him there until she finally settled on holding him by his shoulders for purchase and meeting his gaze. He curled his lips up a little and then leaned toward her, giving her a gentle little kiss as a strange rush of thoughts went through his mind, all at once.
He was training for his service in the army, learning marksmanship. He was meeting Monsieur Madeleine in Montreuil. He was tied up at the barricade as a prisoner of the revolutionaries. He was staring she into the Seine, standing on the Pont au Change, about to die. He was kneeling in the garden of the house on rue Plumet, pushing a sapphire and pearl ring onto Cosette's finger and asking her to marry him.
"Javert."
He snapped to rights, realising he'd lost his mind for a moment, He pulled back just a bit, expecting for Cosette to frown at him in confusion. But she just gave him a warm, almost knowing expression, and she stroked at his face a little as she confirmed,
"I think I am ready."
Javert nodded slowly. He bent and touched his cheek to hers, and then, moving fluidly and carefully, he thrust his hips forward. He did not feel a rip, a tear, or any other form of resistance from her body. He felt a warm, welcoming embrace. Tightness, yes. She was new and unpractised, to be certain. There was a cinch and a squeeze around his cock that was so strong that there could be no denying that her body had never been invaded in such a way. But after a few moments a few slowly deepening strokes, he felt her walls relax a little, and the gasps and whining from her voice gave way to low, satisfied moans.
Javert was a little surprised to feel her legs hook somewhat confidently around his waist, as though to her that had simply felt like the right thing to do, but then after that it seemed she was doing absolutely everything on instinct. As he started to lengthen and deepen his strokes, he felt her hips start to cycle beneath him in tandem with his motion, accentuating what he was doing, working in rhythm with him. Taken aback by the feel of that, Javert pulled back from her and stared down at her, and Cosette gazed up at him in wide-mouth shock, her eyes half-lidded and her lips parted as her head lolled. Her hands dragged around Javert's chest, trying to open his shirt, touching his neck and arms, and all of a sudden she seemed like a starving woman.
"Oh," she kept muttering, each murmuration sounding like a fresh revelation. "Oh, Javert."
He could not last. Not like this, not with her looking like a veritable Aphrodite upon their bed, gorgeous and perfect and his , mad with desire over him. He could not sustain himself like this, not when she was intolerably pretty and lustful as she was. So he hurriedly wrenched his hips out of her and snatched at the linen cloth he'd taken from the washstand. He managed to get it just in time; he held it out before his cock and spilt himself onto it, his seed jumping in messy puddles that soaked straight into the cloth as he was overcome with a hot, quick rush over pleasure and satisfaction that jolted straight through his veins.
He allowed himself and Cosette a few moments in silence to clean themselves up. It seemed only dignified to do so. He let her pull up her pantalettes without any commentary from him. He tucked his cock away and tossed his sullied cloth into the laundry hamper and dressed himself properly again. But then he perched himself on the side of the bed, pouring out more of his Gypsy mother's secret recipe for hydrating solution into the tumbler he'd brought up, almost shoving it toward Cosette with a bit of a judgmental look as she propped herself against the pillows, She was flushed beet red now and breathless, and he commanded her
"Drink. All of it. And then rest. I'll hear no protest. I gave you what you wanted. Now you will drink and rest before I take you back to rue Plumet. Understood?"
Cosette smiled shyly but then nodded, sipping from the drink he'd given her. Javert studied her and sighed deeply. He spotted his black velvet ribbon on the quilt and reached for it, using his fingers to pull his hair back as neatly as possible and tying it up. Cosette gave him an apologetic look and murmured,
"I really am sorry. For mussing your hair."
He rolled his eyes. "And I really was teasing you about being cross. And I really would never actually deny you pleasure. So."
She grinned at him and took another sip from her glass. She drummed her fingers on it and contemplated, "You were right. It is very nice, the act."
"That is not a universal truth by any stretch of the imagination, and that is a very, very important thing for you to understand about the world, Cosette," Javert said a bit grimly. "For a woman to enjoy such things with a man is a bit of a privilege, I'm afraid."
She frowned a bit but nodded, and then she said, "Well. I am grateful. For my privilege."
He quirked up half of his mouth and nodded, gesturing toward her. "As I am grateful for mine. Please drink some more or I shall be wracked with guilt over your well-being."
"Yes, Inspector," Cosette winked, and she took several large sips from her glass.