Javert replied, his face incorruptible, and as melancholy as ever:--
"Mr. Mayor, the truth is the truth.
I am sorry; but that man is Jean Valjean.
I recognized him also."
M. Madeleine resumed in, a very low voice:--
"You are sure?"
Javert began to laugh, with that mournful laugh which comes from profound conviction.
"O!
Sure!"
He stood there thoughtfully for a moment, mechanically taking pinches of powdered wood for blotting ink from the wooden bowl which stood on the table, and he added:--
"And even now that I have seen the real Jean Valjean, I do not see how I could have thought otherwise.
I beg your pardon, Mr. Mayor."
Javert, as he addressed these grave and supplicating words to the man, who six weeks before had humiliated him in the presence of the whole station-house, and bade him "leave the room,"--Javert, that haughty man, was unconsciously full of simplicity and dignity,--M. Madeleine made no other reply to his prayer than the abrupt question:--
"And what does this man say?"
"Ah!
Indeed, Mr. Mayor, it's a bad business.
If he is Jean Valjean, he has his previous conviction against him.
To climb a wall, to break a branch, to purloin apples, is a mischievous trick in a child; for a man it is a misdemeanor; for a convict it is a crime. Robbing and housebreaking--it is all there.
It is no longer a question of correctional police; it is a matter for the Court of Assizes. It is no longer a matter of a few days in prison; it is the galleys for life.
And then, there is the affair with the little Savoyard, who will return, I hope.