When will you learn? (Eponine)

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Was it Javert's imagination, or were criminals becoming bolder of late? Or it might just have been his perception. There was a reason thieves did not go to Saint-Michel, and that was because they were from that area. They went instead to a place where there was something to steal. The neighborhoods of aristocrats large and small, usually found at the edges of the city to allow for the size of dwellings favored by those who could afford them, were therefore the first place an ambitious thief would think of. So, it was not very surprising then that he had been summoned to one of the better streets by reports of a suspicious-looking creature. A young girl, apparently, dressed in the worst of rags, had been seen there, and more than once, in daytime.

None of this added up. Whores of that caliber worked exclusively at night and in their own nests, they did not come calling like courtesans. And according to their source, a concerned neighbor, it was always the same house she visited. No thief with nerve enough to strike such a wealthy mark would be stupid enough to hope that a second strike would not bring trouble down around his head. And so, Javert took his cane and his hat to this street at the very hour that the neighbor had given them. ‘She always comes at the same time, right on the dot. I don’t know what it’s about, Inspector, but she doesn’t belong here!’

So their informant had said. Javert, outside his capacity as police, hardly belonged in the area more than the gamine he sought. He earned a few sideways glances himself, but at least the weather was warming enough that he could most days abandon his coat. No amount of care (and he did take such care) could hide how worn it was. With just the uniform that the state provided, the only signal his appearance gave was that something might be afoot. Police did not idly patrol streets like these, because many of the residents had servants expressly for protection.

Inspector Javert did not let furtive looks give him pause. In fact, he barely noticed most of them, striding past one façade after another with singular purpose. He had the address he needed, had memorized it, and so nothing else mattered. If someone were to stop him and ask about his presence here, they would receive no reply, just a fistful of papers that would identify this tall and undeniably black person as a police inspector. That should be answer enough for anyone.

However, he was so focused on his goal— so near, just a few paces more— that he missed the fact that a body, slight but very solid, blocked his way. He recovered quickly from his stumble and turned towards the perpetrator; starting with an apology, because anyone in these streets would be worthy of one, it changed with alacrity to a surprised growl. “Pardon, I— it’s you!” He had not seen the Thénardier girl in some time, but she had not changed enough that he couldn’t still recognize her. Javert continued to glare down at her, arms folded. “So, up to your same tricks, are you?”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

It had been a few days since Eponine had begun coming to Combeferre's flat for tutoring, and despite their rocky start, she found herself looking forward to the afternoon more and more each day. During their first lesson, she had let her temper get the better of her and nearly stormed out, never to return. He had unknowingly shattered her fragile trust with a careless, stupid comment, and while it was still cracked, it had started to repair itself. After that initial misstep, she had promised to tell him if he ever offended again. She had yet to have to follow through on that promise, but knowing her had the freedom to be that open with him was liberating. In a strange sense, it led her to relax during their time together faster than she had with anyone else who had broken her trust before. Although she had not let her guard down entirely, she was enjoying his company. Her laughter and smile came easier each passing day and she'd even begun to seek him out at the cafe, eager to regale him with what she had thought of while reading his borrowed books. It had become a comfortable routine. She'd show up just after four in the afternoon, stay for a couple hours, sometimes until after the sun set, and then walk home, her arms full of books, her head full of ideas, and a smile on her face.

Maybe that's why she didn't notice the person in her path as she rounded the corner until it was too late, until she had collided with him, jostling the books wrapped in her arms. She grasped at them wildly, tightening her grip as she regained her footing. Eponine looked up, intending to apologize and get out of their way, only to have her speech choked off by the face and cold voice before her. Of all the people she could have run into, there weren't many worse than Inspector Javert. Her heart immediately jumped into her throat as her arms tightened around Combeferre's books. She wanted to explain, to protest that she wasn't doing anything wrong, she had just as much right to be here as he did. Combeferre had told her that! That she had nothing to be ashamed of, coming to his flat for tutoring! She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Her fear and sense of self-preservation overpowered her body.

Without another word, she turned on her bare feet and ran. Eponine didn't know where she was going, her only thought was to escape him. Even if she managed to explain away her presence here, there was a myriad of things he could arrest her for that she had committed just in the last week, let alone the things she had done over the course of her life. If he caught her and made the charges stick, it was likely she'd never see freedom again. So she ran, darting down unfamiliar alleys and streets. Each time she came to Combeferre's flat, she had stuck to the main road, and now she was paying for it. She had no idea how to get out of this pursuit, where to hide, what alleys were dead ends. She couldn't go back to his flat. She hadn't told Combeferre about her past or even present criminal activities. She wasn't sure how he would respond to that knowledge, and losing his friendship terrified her. So, with her lungs burning and legs pumping as if the devil himself chased her, she ran.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

She ran; of course she did. That was neither a surprise nor a disappointment, but just what he expected from the Thenardier girl. Still, this was brazen even by her usual standards. He had seen her with solid proof, leatherbound and incontrovertible, clutched in her hands. With a slight shake of his head for her foolishness, Javert set out after her at a brisk trot. He stayed silent, did not shout; it was late and there were not many people about, so causing a fuss would not gain him much. Besides, he wouldn't need it. Long legs were advantage enough and if not, he also had a close knowledge of these streets. Not as close as the rougher back alleys where most of his time was spent, but he had been to most areas of the city at least once. Between his good memory and his doglike instincts, he would sniff her out.

She must be the cause for the law being summoned here; she matched the description they'd been given perfectly. So he did not hesitate in his pursuit, spared no glance for anything extraneous. If there was anything else that needed addressing, it could wait until after he'd caught the fish he'd come for. He passed tributaries that more than likely would have also provided for his nets, but they weren't his concern now. Every turn she made, Javert saw or sensed, and he tailed her, waiting for her to slip up. From the path she took, it seemed she did not know her way here, not in the same way she did in Saint-Michel. An animal outside its familiar well-trod territory would also be thrown off balance, fear breeding a greater chance of mistake. It would only be a matter of time, and Javert was patient when the chase called for it.

However, he was not getting younger; when at last she slipped around a corner that he remembered as containing a closed alley, his next exhalation was one of relief. He did not slow his pace in case he was wrong. Turning the corner himself, Javert saw her still some distance ahead. If he was right though it was all over, so he felt he could afford to waste a little breath on addressing her. "Where to now, girl?" he demanded, marching forward with arms folded across his chest. Her back was still to him but he spoke anyway. "Can you walk through walls?"

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Buildings flew past and people jumped out of her way as Eponine careened down the street. Her arms clutched tightly to the books against her chest, fearing she would drop them at any moment. Her legs ached and heart raced, but she didn't dare look back. She knew Javert would still be there, and taking her focus off where she was going would only slow her down. And she couldn't afford that, not now. Already, she knew she was doubling back down by streets and alleys she had been down before in her manic escape. She was going in circles, desperate to find a way out, back to her own familiar territory. She was sure that some of Combeferre's neighbors had no doubt turned her in, and that thought made her blood boil. Typical bourgeois, thinking there was no reason for her to be at his flat other than thievery or prostitution. If that's what they thought of her, she wondered what their thoughts on Combeferre for having her at his flat everyday were.

As she turned down an alley, she skidded to a stop. It was a dead end, no way out. Just as she was to turn around she heard the deep voice she dreaded. He was just behind her, blocking her way out. She was trapped. Panic began to overtake her, her breathing becoming more and more labored. He mocked her predicament, asking if she could walk through the walls to escape him. Gripping the books tightly, she spun on her heel, turning to face him with her chin held up. She had to remember, she had done nothing wrong. This time. She was perfectly legitimate in her presence in the Faubourg. He had to have no evidence of anything other than that. Surely that was the only reason he could be looking for her here.

"Inspector, I've done no wrong. I'm taking lessons. Reading. These were a gift from my teacher." The leather bindings of the books, creaked as she held them tighter, fearing he might try to take them. She stared him down defiantly, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. So many scenarios ran through her head. What if she was arrested on the spot? When she didn't show up for her lesson at the usual time, would Combeferre go looking for her? She had never told him where she really lived. What if he just thought she had given up on the lessons? They had started off rocky alright, but she thought they had moved beyond it, become friends again. Would he still be her friend if his books were returned after being recovered from the thieving daughter of the notorious Thenardier?

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Javert was not easily astonished, but he might have been, had he believed the girl’s story. However, experience had not been kind to his opinion of her— experience and the knowledge of who her father was. The police had a large but strictly unofficial file on Thenardier; like hounds with a ferret, they could smell that he was up to no good, but they had yet to catch him at anything. He was too good at going to ground, and it seemed he had taught his offspring well, because they also had not been able to gather any evidence against her. This even though they suspected her of occasionally aiding her father in his operations.

Here, though, was proof at last. She was cornered with the offending items still in her hands; she could not wriggle out of this so easily. "You cannot read," Javert drawled. It was not a question, it was a statement— of fact, so far as the inspector was concerned. Her story was a pretty one, he would give her that. It fit the circumstances perfectly, the hallmark of a good lie, if that were not an impossibility. "Who would teach you? And who trust you with his books?" He stared down at her, acutely aware of the difference between them. She was a girl who despite her age was already his polar opposite, making her way in the world through means he despised. Finally, finally she would answer to the courts, if not for the earlier crimes, then at least this one. The triumph in his eyes was not quite terrible, but it would have given even an innocent man pause.

Javert stood poised, resting only in the sense that a snake waiting to strike does; so when he stretched out a hand to seize her, it seemed a natural progression. "Come along then, and you can return those to their rightful owner on the way to your cell. Will you come or will it be the handcuffs?" She was small enough that they would not be necessary, unless— and with a Thenardier it was always a possibility— unless she decided to make a fight of it.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Anger surged up within Eponine, turning her face red and her knuckles white. There were few things in her life she held onto with more pride than her ability to read and write. She knew she was far from scholarly. In fact, she seemed to use her abilities more for the shady side of things than anything else. Still she couldn't help but feel that her literacy made her different from other common criminals. Maybe not better, but at least having a better shot at getting out of the gutter, something she would never admit she wanted more than anything. She envied those around her like Mylene, who had managed to make an honest life, however humble, and leave the Paris underworld behind them. She wanted to live on the right side of the law, to walk through the street without fearing arrest, to go to bed under a solid roof and at least some food in her belly. But her last name and the past it carried with it made that life little more than a fever dream.

So when the Inspector scoffed at her and denied her ability in a flat statement, Eponine felt ready to burst. Of course she could read! How dare he? He knew next to nothing about her beyond what what she had done in cooperation with her father and Patron-Minette. And even then, he obviously had no evidence or she would have been rotting in some cell long before she left home. His prejudices were worse than most anyone else's, as his could land her in jail. Even now, he was question why anyone would let her into their home willingly. No doubt he was sure she was either scouting out a house for her father or simply robbing them blind on her own. The fear of being reported to Combeferre jumped back up to the front of her mind. Who in their right mind would let the lying daughter of Thenardier into their home? While she hadn't outright lied to Combeferre, neither had she been totally truthful.

All these thoughts screamed in her head as Javert reached for her, snatching her arm with a quick practiced movement. Her instincts kicked back in and she tried to pull free, struggling in his grip. "Let me go! I've done nothing wrong!" In her desperate fight for freedom, one of the books in her arms worked its way loose, crashing to the pavement. As it hit, Eponine made a snap decision - it was the books, which she could retrieve from Combeferre's later, if he'd have her back to his flat after this, or her own freedom. She chose the latter, releasing the other book from her grasp. As she felt it leave her hand and tumble down, she balled her fist and brought it up fast and hard, trying to caught the Inspector off guard, to make him release her arm so she could sprint past him. If she was going to disappear into a cell, she was not going to go quietly. After all, she was a Thenardier.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Two wrongs never made a right, only more wrongs; and lies did not dissipate but piled up like refuse in the street. In this case the Thénardier girl had decided to lie, and she was so steeped in it, she seemed actually offended by his words. Not that this affected Javert in any way so as to cause him to retract the statement, but he did note it and raised his brows in response. It was as though it was a lie that she needed to believe for herself, and not only to keep out of prison. The idea of a harmless, even beneficent lie was so foreign to Javert that he thought the girl might be crazy. But if so, it was no business of his, and he was reluctant to give up his catch to a hospital.

In fact, he was reluctant to give her up at all. Unsurprisingly she wanted to make a scene of it. Well, it would be the girl who would bear the brunt of everyone's gaze, not Javert. All the citizens of Paris would see in the spectacle would be a police inspector, upright representative of general order and the law, exercising his duty on one of the city's many thieves. They might ogle for a while, but they wouldn't help her, and their gazes would soon be drawn elsewhere. She could not even claim the dubious distinction of notoriety, despite her criminal associations, so the excitement caused would not last long.

That, however, assumed she would make it out of the alley of her own volition, not a forgone conclusion. The battle was still in progress—but it was not a one-sided conflict. She was sly and quick on her feet, both literally and tactically, and knew how to turn circumstances to her advantage even when cornered. If Javert was unflappable in everyday life, he was doubly so while on duty. A book falling to the ground? Two? What were those to him? It just freed her other hand for the cuffs he would put on them. They were evidence, however, so after the brief struggle for supremacy during which he secured her hands in front, he told her calmly, "Pick them up. And don't be long about it."

During the hunt, when it was needed, Javert could afford to have patience; but now that it was over, he had none to spare. He watched her keenly though, expecting her to make a run for it even despite the handcuffs. "Come, girl, what are you so afraid of?" True, he didn't know her well, mostly through reputation; but she was a hardened thief even as young as she was, but he'd never seen her this rabbity.

((OOC: I researched handcuffs a bit and apparently they were one-size-fits-all except they didn't actually fit smaller folks, so you're welcome to have her slip out of these!))

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

It was a long shot. Eponine knew that the moment she had let her fist fly that she probably would not prevail in a fight against him. Javert had too many advantages over her, size, strength, training. Still when she felt the cold iron against her wrists and heard the handcuffs click as they locked, it felt as if the breath had been stolen from her body. The sound of the the lock only punctuated the finality of her defeat. She looked down at the books at her feet, discarded and open as if staring up at her accusingly at her. She had gambled with them and lost, and now she could only hope they weren't too damaged. Gathering them up wasn't easy with her hands shackled and the cuffs threatened to slip off her wrists as she reached down. Her eyes looked up at Javert as she weighed the option of simply slipping the cuffs and running again. She had tried running already only to get cornered. She didn't know the area well enough to make a quick escape. If she tried again, it was very likely she would be caught again, and she'd have more than a few scrapes and bruises to show for it. Clenching her teeth, she managed to close the books and pick them up, her bounds rattling the whole time.

As Eponine straightened up, wrapping her arms back around the books as much as the cuffs would allow, she scowled at Javert. "Certainly not you, dear Inspector," she hissed through her teeth. There were many things she was afraid of. Never pulling herself out of the gutter. Being a criminal for the rest of her life. Losing Marius forever, either to Cosette or to the coming revolution. Having the sordid past revealed to her friends, especially Combeferre. After having been so angry with him for lying to her and deceiving her just to teach her and get her to eat, she was scared to death how he might react to knowing that she had omitted part of the truth about who she was and what she did. With their friendship beginning to grow, Eponine fear this might just strangle and kill it. But she did not fear the Inspector before her. The worst he could do was throw her in jail, and while it might not be easy, it'd be better than losing the friendships she had started building.

He straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and felt Javert take her arm. If she was to be led away to disappear into a cell, she would not go as a whimpering victim. She was stronger than that. Her chin held up, she let herself be led out of the alley. Her proud demeanor faltered only momentarily when she realized they were going towards Combeferre's flat. They had to return his books after all.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

A victory, even such a minor one, brought a terrible smile to the face of Inspector Javert. His was a countenance that never bore a smile except in triumph, never laughed but with the roar of a tiger; and so the look that could be seen there as he stood back and watched the girl retrieve the fallen books was something an honest person would wish never to see. She, however, was no honest citizen. She had earned that face staring her down sphinx-like, and they both knew it. This was not their first encounter even if he'd never been able to prove anything against her, so when she professed not to be afraid of him, he snorted derisively. He'd known that already, hadn't he? She was a brazen girl, a little hussy in the making. He had no doubt she would end badly one way or another. Well. Worse than her current state, anyway.

He watched her for practical reasons too. More than one young offender had managed to slip out of the cuffs, and though Javert had protested in favor of a different model, he had received only a laugh and a sharp rebuke that he should keep a better eye on his thieves. Stung by this, he nevertheless still harbored a desire for more effective handcuffs, but in the meanwhile was determined not to lose another prisoner to it. But she did not try to escape again. If she had been foolish before, now she had abandoned that in favor of a resigned sensibility. This mollified Javert slightly though he didn't realize it was neither for his sake nor for the law's, but it meant that the hand that gripped her arm was not too tight.

He steered her out of the alley and back towards the scene of the crime, careful to take the same streets. He was not confident enough in his knowledge of the area that he felt it safe to take another route, not when he already knew which streets would bring them to their destination. The stares that followed them were not as blatant as they might have been if she'd chosen to take the struggle into the open, but the residents and even passersby cast glances their way. Some had probably seen the chase of a few minutes before; others might have missed that piece of drama but noticed the girl on their streets other days; and anyone who didn't know what was going on still had the clue of the inspector's uniform. It wouldn't be hard to build a conjecture from that.

At last they reached the door of the apartment. Javert lifted his free hand and knocked, then waited to see who would open it. Possibly a philanthropist who had chosen the wrong subject on whom to practice his art.

[Deleted]

Combeferre tapped his pen against the desk, his flaxen brows knitted together in deep thought. He was working on his declaration to Eponine by writing down what he would say. He kept telling himself that he would say something, but he kept losing his fortitude. He would steal longing glances at her whenever he thought that she was not looking. It was a wonder that she never appeared to notice his sudden changes in demeanor. He was conflicted as to whether or not this was a good or a bad thing. If she was able to infer how he felt about her, then he would not have to deal with the mortification of making a sudden declaration. However, that could also be a negative thing. She might think him too forward, or be disgusted by his love struck gazing, which was why he always looked away within seconds of meeting her eyes.

The moment she had left, he had mentally kicked himself for not saying anything. He had resolved to tell her the next time he saw her. He would not—could not—wait until after Lemarque’s funeral, because he could be dead within moments of the clash that would happen in the streets. If there was anything he prided himself on, it was his integrity. He would not take his feelings to the grave. She must know. Her reaction should not matter to him, at least this way he would be honest. At least she would know the truth.

“My dearest…no.” That made him sound like his father. He always called his mother ‘my dearest one.’ Was that old-fashioned? He wouldn’t know. “My darling…my beloved…” He continued tapping his pen against his desk. Those all sounded too cliché. “I can no longer repress what I feel…” he thought aloud, leaning down to write his words down on the sheet of paper before him. What was it that he felt? “My…my life seemed planned from nearly the very start…all I wanted was to help people through medicine, and then perhaps do some traveling. I had never thought nor cared about sharing my life with someone else, u-until I met you. I love you, E—“

He jumped at the sound of the sudden knock on the door, dropping his pen. Combeferre stood up immediately, taking off his glasses. Who could possibly be coming to visit at this time of day? He pulled on his yellow and red striped vest over the blue shirt and scarlet cravat he wore as he reached for the doorknob. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see a lawman—judging by uniform, one of the inspectors, no doubt. “Good evening…er, Monseiur l’Inspector?” He assumed that was what his rank was, but his tone was uncertain. He hid the fear that was bubbling up in side of him with a passive expression. Why was he here? Had he found out about their plan? Was he a wanted man because of the incident at the parade? He wouldn’t tell him anything. He would not give up his friends, even if they tortured him. He noticed someone was standing behind the man, and his eyes shifted to the figure, blinking in shock.

“Eponine?” She was in handcuffs. “What…what is the meaning of this?” he asked the inspector, attempting to subdue his indignation. Surely he had not arrested her just because people thought her out of place—if so, he had some choice words for his neighbors.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine walked in silence, head held high. Let the bourgeois stare at the gutter rat in their midst, let them feel a little safer with her in chains now. She owed them nothing and would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her broken, of seeing her cry. She held out some hope that without Combeferre making a report against her, she could not be charged and would be set free. But Javert had to take her to Combeferre's flat first, and that would mean revealing her past to him. A past she'd much rather keep hidden, but the chances of that happening now were so slim they might as well not exist at all. She could try to break free of the Inspector's grip, slip the cuffs and run, but what would happen the next time she came for a lesson? Even if Combeferre didn't make a report, could she even come back to this neighborhood? Would he want her to? Something deep inside told her that her lessons with him were at an end. And it hurt, tremendously. Though she'd never admit it to anyone else, she had begun to like the time spent with him. His gentle smiles, his delight in teaching, even his nervous stuttering. Apart from her stolen moments with Marius, it was the highlight of her day.

And now it was over. Each step she took brought her closer to that end. The people of the Faubourg had made it clear, she was not welcome here. It was a nice dream while it lasted, and perhaps she would see Comebferre at the cafe or the wine shop. But it would not be the same. In his flat, it was just the two of them, focused on her education, the cares of the world shut out. They could talk for hours without interruption and had lost track of the time more than once, until one of them realized they were leaned so far over a book because the sun was beginning to set. Outside those walls, there were too many distractions, other obligations, divided loyalties. Eponine had her family to look after and Combeferre had the Amis to focus on. No, it wouldn't be the same ever again.

When they reached Combeferre's flat, the haughty air Eponine had maintained evaporated into nothing. The moment he opened the door, her eyes fell to the wooden planks at her feet. The barely concealed displeasure in his voice stung more than she liked and she wondered if it was directed at her or the Inspector. She had stolen from him before, it was how they had properly met. It wasn't too far of a stretch to believe she'd do it again. Her past would never let her escape.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

There was a delay before the door was opened, but Javert was used to this. People were always busy with something. The wealthy might not be busy with work, but certainly with something that could prevent them from answering the door instantly. Besides, this was procedure, so the inspector did not mind waiting. The Thenardier girl waited with him, silent, but he sensed it was not a sullen silence. The fear he had noticed earlier was still there. It made no sense to him. Fear of being caught, that was natural; but once cornered, she had put on quite the bravura performance. Why should she drop it now?

All thoughts on the subject fled on the opening of the door. Such speculation was permissible in that time between, but now he was Inspector Javert, representative of the law, and had no time for anything but the task in front of him. As for who stood there in the open door, it was a young man dressed in rather garish colors, but he was respectful if unsure in his greeting. Javert gave him a curt nod and affirmed, "Inspector Javert." Of course he would want an explanation, and the inspector was on the verge of giving him one when the man spoke again. Javert looked sharply at him. "You know this girl, monsieur?" he asked. If he was surprised, he didn't exactly sound like it, but that was just his way.

The explanation, then. Javert related it, calmly, methodically, leaving no detail out. It was, probably word for word, the substance of the report he was going to write up later. "The police received complaints about a girl of a certain type coming to this area. I was sent to investigate the matter, and found this one—" even though he referred to her, he continued to look towards the man— "sneaking away from your apartment with these books. She ran, but I caught her. She lied and said the books were not stolen. So she is returning them to you." He didn't see the need to add where she was going next. That much was obvious. On Javert's own witness and that of this man, the wronged party, she would have no trouble in going from streets to courts and onwards to La Force.

[Deleted]

“Blaise Combeferre.” he answered with as much courtesy as he could muster at the moment. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his student—not just his student, the woman he loved—was in handcuffs. It infuriated him to be honest—what could she possibly have done to deserve that? If he were more passionate than he was sensible, he would have demanded that the policeman release her now before even waiting for an explanation.

There was no way in his mind that she could have done anything wrong enough to land her behind bars. He had not forgotten how they had met, but she was not a bad person—she couldn’t be. This was obviously yet another example of the inconsistences in the justice system. For a moment he wondered if he would have to plead her innocence, and almost wished he had actually taken law classes. Enjolras would know exactly what to do…

“Yes, I do know her.” he answered without hesitation. “She is my friend and my student. I am tutoring her in her reading.” He did not say that she was his maid because that was not what he thought of her as, regardless of whatever their agreement was. He resisted the urge to cross his arms and kept his face impassive as the man explained what his neighbors had done. A vein in his neck twitched but that was the only visible implication that he was seething underneath his calm exterior. “Inspector Javert, I appreciate your coming here. I understand that you are only doing your duty and you are to be commended, but there has been a serious mistake. My neighbors’ concern was unfounded. Eponine has every right to be here, she is my guest.” He tried to meet her eye but saw that she was looking at her feet. He was confused by this and refocused his eyes on the inspector. “She did not lie. She was telling you the truth, I gave them to her to read for our lessons.” He tried to mask his outrage over Javert’s not believing her, as if her word was somehow less than his because she was a gamine and he a bourgeois. That was exactly what he and most people thought, and it infuriated him. It infuriated him that society was this way, and that they did not see her as he did. He thought back to what little he had read of criminal law—out of boredom, no doubt—and added, “I am not filing a report because there’s nothing to report. She has done no wrong.” Therefore, he should release her, shouldn’t he?

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

While the two men exchanged tense words, Eponine kept her eyes on the floor.  The cold iron of the handcuffs sent shivers through her arms, making it difficult to hold onto the books.  The scrapes on her palms and the bottom of her feet stung and she knew she'd have a couple new bruises across her arms from her flight through the city.  But those paled in comparison to the apprehension mounting in her as Javert spoke to Combeferre.  It was only a matter of time before he warned her friend about what kind of a girl she was, about the life she led. If Combeferre was as smart as people gave him credit for, as smart as she thought he was, he'd never let her near his flat again. People like her weren't to be trusted around anything of value, isn't that what the police warned the respectable citizens of Paris? She knew it was true, given half a chance and the right motivation, she'd slip her nimble fingers into the pockets of most any person. But not her friends, never her friends. Whether or not Combeferre believed that was another issue all together. She prayer that Javert wouldn't reveal her last name. She knew there was no love lost between the Amis and Patron-Minette, and while she had managed to straddle the line between the two, she had only been able to by keeping most of both sides in the dark about her affiliation with the other. Now it looked like that was no longer an option.

As Combeferre defended her, Eponine dared to steal a glance at him. He stared at the inspector, his face impassive. Anyone looking in on the scene would have thought he was not phased by the appearance of a thief and a policeman at his door. But Eponine had spent enough time trying to discern and read his features to see the tightening of his muscles, the vein beginning to stand out on his neck, the awkward balling and releasing of his fists. He was furious. The question was, was it at the inspector or her? He gave no indication either way, no hostility to Javert and hardly a glance at her. Ashamed and fearful of catching his gaze only to see disappointment in his eyes, she looked at the floor again, hugging the books to her chest like a shield.

Of course, he was angry with her. She had betrayed his trust, keeping the truth from him about her less than legal activities. She'd even lied to him about where she lived just to keep him from finding out. Perhaps he was even mad at himself for believing her, letting himself get taken in. Eponine sighed quietly, waiting for the two men to sort out her fate so she could get whatever they thought she deserved. Maybe she did deserve whatever they deemed, even if it was a stint in prison. Maybe Pere could get her out if she did end up there.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

If he had taken the time to think about it, he might have put Blaise Combeferre's coldness own to the inconvenience of having to interrupt whatever activity he'd been in the midst of. However, Inspector Javert had no thoughts once the door was opened, at least until the man delivered a blow that set him off balance. To the outside observer he hardly seemed to react, but if anyone who knew him well had seen, they might have noticed the subtle shift of his stance, the way his expression hardened even further into its torpor, and above all the momentary waver of his stare. How could this be? The girl—a Thénardier—had been telling the truth? No! Javert did not believe it.

And yet as he remained silent in his shock, Combeferre continued to speak, strengthening his story. The man was perfectly composed and civil, so Javert suspected nothing of his indignation. This impartial attitude also spoke in favor of his words; if they had been tinged with so much emotion the inspector would have doubted him on general principle and because it might have pointed to the lies of an accomplice... but anyway, Combeferre was as far from the streets as the girl was close to them. Almost certainly he lived here, was not helping her to rob some poor fellow blind.

So Javert rallied, meeting Combeferre's gaze once more. When he spoke, it was clipped but respectful. "If it's as you say, and I don't doubt you; and if you will not file a report, then I will let her go." He might have sounded disappointed at this, but it did not show in his expression. Still, he had thought he'd caught her out at last, with proof he could bring to the courts, not just hearsay and a family name. The failure stung. All that remained then was to warn the man. How much could he know about the girl, with the way he was defending her so vehemently? Or perhaps in his frustration Javert was reading too much into it because Combeferre's tone was calm, not the indignant shouting he occasionally endured from well-meaning people who were too easily drawn towards kindness.

Regardless, Javert felt it was his duty to inform. If he already knew, well then, it was his own purse and he was welcome to risk it. If, however, he was unaware of just who his student was, then he deserved to know. "One thing more before I release her. Has this girl told you who she is, the complete truth?" Javert spared her a brief look with raised brows as if to say, 'I doubt it'; but a second later he had turned back to Combeferre. "Her name is Éponine Thénardier. What of that, do you know that name? It belongs to a notorious criminal. There is a reason she shares it with him. He is her father, and she has followed his example. She is a thief. Maybe not of books, but of other things." At the end of his speech he paused to watch its effect before adding, "Well? Did you know all that?" He was sure that once Combeferre learned the truth about his 'friend and student,' he would want nothing more to do with her. If he'd indeed given her the books, Javert still might not get to write his report, but at least he would have prevented further trouble.