Some Old New Excuse (Feuilly & Mylene)

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Without information, when circumstances were still murky, the scrupulous Inspector Javert would not jump to conclusions. Except where he had prior knowledge of a person that would sow suspicion, he preferred not to act in the face of uncertainty. Here, however, were two people, one of whom he knew nothing about, the other with a list of infractions against her name. He also possessed the indisputable fact that both had hidden themselves from him. For Mylène's part, he could have accepted her avoidance if it had come on the ground; there was likely unfinished business between them even if she was not doing anything at this particular moment. But what innocence was there in crouching on rooftops? As for her 'friend' (Javert did not believe this deception either, but would not protest because it was irrelevant) he may not have had trouble with the police before, but it seemed he was about to. His concealment had already damaged any explanation he might have, though Javert had been prepared to listen; now, with the addition of the girl to this tableau, it was properly destroyed.

"Mistaken?" The inspector stared unblinkingly back at the fan-maker. "I am not mistaken." The night was not dark enough that he shouldn't recognize the face he'd seen so often before, even if he hadn't seen it on the streets in quite some time—years passed more like centuries in terms of crime. Still, her recent absence meant little. Paris was a gargantuan city and it was easy for the criminal to lose himself (or herself) among its serpentine streets. The fan-maker seemed to want to save her, or himself, because he offered to show proof. Fully expecting this oilcloth to be nonexistent despite his words, Javert said, "Produce it then," in a peremptory tone.

But if this fellow wanted to spare La Coquine, at least she was not ungrateful enough to throw him to the wolf. She sprang immediately to his defense, and was willing to reveal her past to him in the process. Javert was surprised that she did not try to lie; so many did, even when it was hopeless. But then, those were the crooks without any intelligence. Whatever else he knew about her, she was not stupid. He watched this spectacle until finally she turned her attention towards him; his expression remained the same, cool but clearly displeased. "Am I to take your word for it?" he demanded with contempt when she had finished speaking. "That you're not together on something here?"

At last the promised article appeared and he stared at it for a few seconds as though he saw nothing in her hand. Like a bulldog, once Javert had hold of a notion, he gripped it tight and most times did not realize when it would have been more prudent to let go. “A pretty kerchief for stolen trinkets,” he said without taking his eyes from her, the trace of a knowing smile upon his lips. Where before there had doubt, there was now certainty, and it would take more than a piece of cloth to turn it back to doubt again.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

“I've stolen nothing, Inspector.” Feuilly's voice was almost stern, and he wondered if that had been the wrong tack to take. He realized, belatedly, that in irritation he had taken the more educated tone he had become more used to as well. Of course, words spoken could not be recalled, and the policeman's behavior frustrated him. The idea that the object of his frustration was not so much Javert as the government he represented flashed through his mind, but such philosophical considerations would have to wait until he was not in immediate danger of arrest. “You're more than welcome to search me if you don't believe me.”

He kept his eyes on the ground, hoping that the appearance of submission with further appease the inspector. He had seen men be arrested as thieves and hooligans, stumbling drunk or trying to flee, plenty of times—but usually keeping his head down and following the greater part of the law prevented anything serious from happening to him. He hoped this would not be the exception, and his imaginings of the inside of a cold, dirty jail cell made him shiver.

“I bought the oilcloth to fix the roof. I told you that.” He dared another glance at the policeman's face, wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers as the sweat on his palms had become excessive. He was glad there was no fan to work on there; the sweat would have damaged the delicate work. “If you look, you'll find a hammer and nails as well.” He looked back to the street. “I stole none of it. Neither did she.”

He wondered, nervously and in passing, what Mylene really had been involved in those years before. He'd heard mention of crimes, but never the details. Clearly, the inspector seemed to know the details—or at least he pretended to. Feuilly could not be sure which of those it was, for he knew that sometimes a clever man in a position of power would pretend to know things he did not in hopes of breaking through a suspected conspiracy, of getting one of the participants to confess or report on the doings of others.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Feuilly was trying his best, the poor man, and Mylène wished she could help him, though her being there surely made things worse for him. If she only had been able to stay up the roof! But now it had happened, and she needed to deal with this, in the best way she could – though the best way for Mylène was usually not the way she chose. Her hatred for Javert was profound, not only because of his annoying personality and his cunning in arresting the kinds Mylène had once belonged to, and in a way still felt connected to, but also because of the institution he stood for. The law. The law that did nothing for those who would need it, but was quick and merciless once it saw itself broken or bended. Expect everything and give nothing in return, that was the way this so called ‘law and order’ worked. It was only just for those who could afford its justice.

The inspector’s stubbornness was frustrating, he just did not want to get it into his thick head that someone like Mylène actually could take a break from being up to no good for once. Maybe she should lead him up the roof so he could see the hole there for himself and the wet room below it. And then… just a little shove and the problems of many street people in Paris would be solved…! But no… these thoughts were not prudent, nor were they nice. She was not a murderer, she would not go the easy way just because it was easy.
“Maybe ye shed just go inside an’ let me an’ the lovely inspector here sort out our differences?” she suggested in a low tone, heaving a sigh. Not that Javert would probably let that happen, but it was the only way she could think of to subtly apologize for the way things had turned out now. “Seriously, I just wanted te help, bu’ now I made things worse. Shed’ve known ye always get judged for wha’ ye were, an’ not fer wha’ yer now.”

Snorting, she looked up at the towering figure of Javert, scarcely believing her ears as he turned their evidence of innocence into an evidence of guilt in his twisted mind. “Excuse-moi, but are ye for REAL?” she protested angrily. “He’s right, if ye can’t help it, search us an’ ye’ll find a hammer an’ some nails. To FIX that roof, or why else would we need nails? Seriously, Javert”, a grim smile flashed over her face, and before she could stop the thought from leaving her mouth she added: “Right now, between ye and me, YER the one sprouting criminal ideas a dime a dozen… are ye sure I shed not rather arrest YE?”

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

He had settled it in his mind. Between their strange behavior to begin with and the revelation of a person whom he knew to have ties to the less-innocent corners of life, Javert had become certain that something was afoot. So, the young man's protestations of innocence went unheeded, though his tone, bordering on insolent, did not. The inspector stared at him, deceptively still like the surface of a lake beneath which lurked some great monster; his eyes, however, were terribly full of life at that moment. And then he laughed. It was not the laugh of a man, who laughs because of joy or humor or even of malice. It was closer to the hoarse bark of a monkey, because Inspector Javert was not amused, he was sure, and the fan-maker's challenge drew out this exclamation. "Ha! Yes, I should waste my time in looking for what isn't there!"

He calmed somewhat after the possible thief returned to a deferent attitude. Not that Javert was a dupe to be taken in by such deception, but it might be genuine. Men like that could sometimes be reasoned with, the truth persuaded from them without too much trouble, and the inspector liked nothing better than efficiency, especially on the job. So he stayed quiet and listened, though his posture was hostile and his arms folded. He was not inclined to believe anything this pair told him, but without proof either way he would listen.

If it had been only La Coquine, he would have seized her already; but it was not. There was also this fan-maker whose name was unknown, but he hardly seemed like the usual criminal type and Javert had never seen him before. As a working-class man, he could have afforded the supplies to fix his roof. The only question was, had he? Javert bit his tongue to keep from asking if he could prove it, because he knew that was impossible and not worth the effort. His time was too valuable to waste on this and so he was nearly ready to accept their excuses. Although some aspects did not add up, enough did that he could be confident they were not planning to rob this house.

At least, he had been until the girl tried to take matters into her own hands. Why should she be so eager to keep him out of this, when whatever the story, he was certainly involved? "He stays," Javert told her with a grimace. His response remained simple since he had decided to go, despite his suspicions, but his scowl did deepen at her words. Thieves were thieves, they could not magically change their spots! His expression became truly terrible when she accused him of the very atrocity he suspected of her. He, Inspector Javert of the police, a thief! It was an absurd notion... but even so, this time he did not laugh. The comment struck closer to its mark than the girl probably could have guessed. The inspector felt he was constantly walking at the edge of a precipice and if he were ever to slip, then he would not curse anyone but himself as he fell. Not even God.

He addressed her points one by one, each resembling a blow. "Call me Inspector." Monsieur would be too much to expect, but so long as he was on duty, he would insist on basic formalities. Not for his sake—where he took his pride was only his duty—but for public order's. "Stop this nonsense, girl! Just because the eye of suspicion falls on you for once, well, that doesn't make it blind. And if you can obtain a warrant from the préfet, then you can arrest me as often as pleases you. Until then, if anyone's under arrest, it's you." Javert looked again at the oilcloth. "Do I need to search you, La Coquine, or will you spare me the trouble? If I'm this doubting Thomas, that would make you the Christ," he added, not having forgotten the earlier words. "And I believe our Lord was once a carpenter, so these nails would at least be fitting."

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly made no move to follow Mylene's advice and go inside, even before Javert had said as much. It was better not to antagonize the police that way, and this inspector's ability to move from laughter to veiled threats in an instant made him uncomfortable. The laughter itself was cowing, not some normal expression of amusement but half a threat of itself. Feuilly found himself wishing that someone would walk out of the building and notice him, take half a moment to greet him before moving on.

But it was too late for that to be likely, and the men he lived with knew as well as he did not to approach something that could turn into an arrest if they did not need to.

“You don't need to arrest her,” Feuilly swallowed again, trying to come off as much more confident than he was. “I asked her to help me—for she had mentioned, once, that she was confident at heights.” He glanced at Mylene, pretending to be displeased with the news that she had been a thief. In reality, he had heard hints of it before—and it didn't matter. She was a different person now, he was sure of that. “Maybe I should've questioned that, but I didn't. Just never occurred to me.”

He resented the fact that he might have to come off as slightly dull, but if it was what he needed to do to save his friend he would do it. “I don't much like heights myself, and the roof's weak. She doesn't weigh much, easier for her to take a look and tell me what it's like before I climb up.” Feuilly was quite certain that, whatever condition the roof was in, it could in fact hold his weight. He had never been a large man, and the roof was hardly collapsing. Another thing the inspector didn't need to know, but hardly a lie—the thought of climbing about on the roof did make him nervous despite his willingness to do it out of necessity.

“Believe me, Inspector. I have no wish to deceive you. I asked her to come here, and she has not stolen anything from me—or anyone else. Not tonight, and not since I've known her.” His heart was sinking anyway. No one would believe a simple workingman's plea of innocence if it was put against someone from a higher class. It was an essential injustice of the world he knew.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène had a sour bile in her throat by now that threatened to make her choke, a bile that consisted of all the words she would like to haul at Javert’s head, as she just could not stand how he treated Feuilly and her right now. He had always been an arrogant self-righteous git, but she had never taken him to be THAT stubborn and stupid. Alright she had provoked him, but she was trying her best here! It was all so highly unfair and yet so typical for her life and that of many others. It just did not matter when they tried to be good, luck was always on the side of those who already had it. What was the saying…? No good deed goes unpunished! And then, when you resigned on being good, they would hunt you down even more, now thumping their justification, that they knew you had been bad all along. Had she wanted to steal when she first ran from the factory? No, of course not, but she had to! It was either stealing and be free, or being hungry and mistreated for the rest of her life, or until she was thrown out of the factory because she was no longer a child. She had seen it! Had SEEN what happened to this one girl, scarcely thirteen but deemed to tall and too hungry now for the cheap leather factory work, but old enough to serve other purposes. But would anyone care?! No… of course not! Not Javert anyway, his world was solely black and white.

So, she swallowed it down, did NOT say that she felt highly tempted to get that warrant from the préfet, if only just to see his face, did also not say that he’d not live to tell if he dared to touch her, and did not even show more than a snort to his ludicrous remark about comparing her to Christ. What blasphemy anyway! Oh, she did not even tell him how much she would like to drive these nails through HIS flesh now… though that was the hardest to swallow down, as anger slowly started to take over every fibre inside her. Her eyes were the only witnesses of her inward struggle for countenance as they practically spew fire at him as she slowly reached into the little leather pouch on her belt and produced a handful of nails in her palm, strong enough to get driven into the hardened beams of the roof timbers. “There…” she pressed out between clenched teeth, then patted the hammer sticking under her belt with the other hand. “I’d produce that too… but I guess His Inspectorship would view that as a threat!”

Thank the Heavens for Feuilly’s calmness though! Mylène knew that if it wasn’t for his collected presence, she would have snapped long since, he was truly a role model to follow. And his acting skills weren’t even that bad, you really could start to think he’d been taken completely by surprise by the revelation of her past. It touched her that he tried to vouch for her in a way no one ever had before, besides maybe Alain. He could have easily shifted all the blame on her to save his own hide, but he even risked to be dragged down with her should his pleading go unheard. She flashed him a quick glance that held all the gratitude she could muster in her angered state. For him, she would try to rein herself in. Maybe then they could finally get on with their business, fix the roof and then afterwards try to get some sleep out of the night. Feuilly for one would need it most!

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

At least the young man was making up for his earlier misjudgment, assuming that had been what it was. But Javert didn't insist that he remain out of malice; even his suspicion was waning. He just wanted the full story, and until then the fan-maker would have to stay. It was his house, his roof, evidently his materials, so it would have to be his story as well. La Coquine's presence made this doubly imperative, since he could not simply accept her word on the matter. She was a thief, still a gamine at heart whatever she might be doing these days. That was why, at the suggestion that he didn't need to arrest her, Javert lifted a brow. "It remains to be seen," he said, and meant it. This was far from sure; it kept shifting under him like a treacherous serpent and until the scales settled for one side or the other, he was not going to seize anyone by the collar, not even a proven thief.

Of course she was comfortable with heights. Any good thief needed to be, if not for the robberies themselves then for an escape route should anything go wrong. And perhaps that should have alerted the man, but it was not a crime to be gullible. Too many people suffered from that affliction in Javert's view; however, it was only unfortunate and the inspector wouldn't hold it as evidence against him. He hardly moved during this fan-maker's explanation, giving no indication of his thoughts until the end, when he nodded curtly. Despite their earlier behavior, which had tipped the scales towards suspicion, as reason piled upon fact and at last gave way to solid proof, he was beginning to accept their story. At least, far enough that they would not end their night in a cell.

Still, he was not one to let anyone get off so lightly when they showed such disregard for the police. "And in your hand, wouldn't it be? Well, there's no need. I can see it clear as day, and what good are nails without one?" He spoke sharply, then turned to the fan-maker. His expression softened a little, as this man seemed to be innocent for the moment, but he remained grave. "She may not have stolen anything that you know of, but watch out you don't fall into her ways. She's an old hand, well known to us at the prefecture. I can only advise you to be more careful choosing your friends." No doubt his words would offend the girl, but that was no concern of Javert's. He merely wanted to warn the man against allowing her poisonous influence to taint him as well.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

“Yes, sir,” Feuilly answered softly to the man's admonishment to better choose his friends. He had no intention of actually following the advice; there was hardly a man—or a woman—he knew and considered a good friend who also had nothing to hide. Whether it be ideological, as in the case of most of the Amis de l'ABC, or an actual criminal past such as Mylene apparently had. There were things better not discussed around those meant to guard the law and the existing order of the country.

“I'm happy enough with my lot, Inspector.” Whether that was completely true, Feuilly himself was uncertain. He was thankful for his friends, for the things that had happened as if by chance to allow him to begin this long process of deliverance. He was thankful for every pamphlet and newspaper that had ever fallen into his hands, whether he agreed with it or not. At first he had almost invariably agreed with whatever came to him, without regard for its true meaning—his mind had been a sponge, malleable and eager to absorb any new idea that came externally, from a written page. But of course he dreamt of a better world, of course it saddened him that things were as bad as they were for so many people. He didn't like knowing that a severe injury could make him starve to death, didn't like knowing that cholera could very well come to strike him down before he knew it. “'ve got no reason to take up stealing.”

With another earnest glance up at the inspector, he spoke again in a voice quieter yet. “I'll do my best to make sure she doesn't go back into stealing, too.” He almost said more, but stopped himself, biting his lip slightly. He didn't want to raise the man's suspicions about his politics, and further comment had the potential to do just that if he happened to be as perceptive toward dissidence as he seemed to be toward any other sort of criminality. He dared another glance toward Mylene, still somehow unsurprised that she would banter with a policeman with the power to arrest them both.

And manage to come out unscathed, unless the situation took a turn for the much worse.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

It was horrible for Mylène, having to bite back everything and listen to the inspector insulting her without even so much addressing her. Maybe that was even worse, hearing him admonishing Feuilly to keep better company than hers when she was standing right beside him. So it did feel to be treated like nothing else than dirt under someone’s boot. Perhaps he didn’t even view her as fully human or whatever, being a criminal and a girl to boot. It should not face her at all, and had she been alone with Javert she would have laughed everything off, but it WAS shameful for her to be treated such in front of a friend, a friend that did come from a different background and did not know all the details. She did not fear of sinking low in his esteem or anything like it, but she’d still rather had not him hearing Javert exposing her as a year-long thief.

She also did not like the way Feuilly spoke of making sure she would not steal again. Who did he think he was, her guardian or brother?! Most likely he had said it to appease Javert, but she felt more and more like an object than an actual person that was discussed. Clenching both her fist and teeth tight, she pressed out: “I am. right. here, ye two, ye know?! No need te talk ‘bout me like tha’!”
In all honesty, Mylène knew she should feel glad that the conversation had taken such a turn and no other. Maybe Javert would now grow tired of all this and go on his jolly police way, leaving them to their much needed work. Of course she would still help Feuilly now, miffed as she was or not. It had not been his fault after all, it was none’s but Javert’s!

“Ye know wha’, Inspector?” she suddenly said, flashing him a fake grin. “If ye have so lil te do tenight, how ‘bout ye stay an’ let us fix tha’ roof under yer esteemed professional surveillance?! Or… how ‘bout ye even help? Six hands work faster than jus’ four after all. Or…” she cocked her head, raising her brows challengingly. “… are ye ‘fraid o’ heights?”

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

In Javert's long and extensive experience, men lied whenever it suited them. He had learned that the hard way, since he was so blindly honest himself; but once learned he had never forgotten it. He suspected that was the case now too, that the fan-maker's agreement was false. However, there was nothing to be done about it. The man now knew as much about his friend La Coquine (what! how could such a girl be called a friend?) as did Javert himself, and what he chose to do with the information was his affair, at least for the time being. If, as seemed likely, he chose to ignore it, well! He would be back in the police's orbit soon enough.

He had more to say though. "That is well… and not so common," Javert said sharply. "Cling to it with both hands, since discontent is the seed of all crime." Well, except for madness but the inspector put those into a different category, one which he almost pitied. They committed crimes and were therefore criminals, but they were a strange eddy in the river of crime. They could not choose their actions any more than the hurricane chose where to strike. That was what made insanity such a dangerously effective defense; the trouble was, only a tiny number of those who claimed it for an excuse actually had earned it.

The girl wasn't crazy, only a thief—although with the way she was acting, an argument could almost be made. She was deliberately trying to antagonize him… to distract him, perhaps? It was a tactic used against him often, but he was immovable as stone. Her friend the fan-maker was doing his best to smooth things over. Since despite his suspicions he could see nothing covered by his duty here, Javert was inclined to let it be smoothed, to walk away and find some shadowy corner more in need of the attentions of a policeman. But here was proof that a few years' difference had made no difference at all on La Coquine. She was still an affront to public order.

"Yes, I can see you," Javert growled, though in fact he wasn't looking at her. "Be glad it's only talk." He would have liked to arrest her for what he was sure she'd done in the past, but being sure and having evidence were two separate things. He knew nothing that would satisfy the courts, so she was safe. Even with her continued attempts to prod him into action, she was safe. Her suggestion did however cause his lip to curl. It was not a pleasant smile, if indeed such a terrible expression could be called a smile at all.

"No, thank you, I'll leave you to it," he said, his voice as laced with sarcasm as hers had been. "I already have an appointment elsewhere with a rogue, crime as yet unknown. Good evening." He chose not to answer her taunt about heights except with a lengthy stare before turning to go. Crime had not decided to take a holiday just because a grown gamine and her friend might or might not be doing something suspicous up on a roof.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly nodded slightly at the police inspector's comment, consciously preventing himself from biting as his lip. There was more than enough discontentment in him to join a revolution, so why not to turn toward crime? Well, they were two different things, and where he did not mourn his lack of material things he disliked the lack of freedom, the oppression, the suffering that he knew everyone else experienced. Whether he experienced it or not was less important, but he had to do everything he could to save the country that had been mother and father to him from what he could—and that included itself. Crime would not do anything to deliver the world, but a republic and the revolution to bring it might. But he could say none of this to Javert, and he knew it well.

Feuilly disliked the expression on the inspector's face as he told them of his 'appointment,' but found himself relaxing at the promise that he would leave. It was late, and he really did not want to be up on the roof that late—but there was nothing to be done for it. He didn't have anything to do with the oilcloth save put it on the roof, and the loaned tools would be expected back. If he left them there until another day, they would without doubt be stolen—and he could hardly hold it against whatever thief chose to take them! When the man was finally gone, he breathed his sigh of relief.

He turned his head then again toward Mylene, expression tired. “I'm sorry... I can do the roof myself if you like,” he offered in a soft voice. She didn't seem excessively distraught by the incident with the inspector, but he knew she very likely had learned years and years ago to conceal those emotions she did not want seen. It had never been his intention to lead them into a confrontation with the law, just to stop the roof from leaking when it clearly was never going to be repaired by whoever actually owned the building. “I guess it's gotten late, and... is it safe for you to head home?” He had no doubt that Mylene could handle herself in the dark, that wasn't his concern—more that more people like the inspector might be about. The streets between this building on a working-class street where he could afford—barely--the rent and the Latin Quarter were hardly free of crime or of police this late at night. “Either now or after the roof's done. With people like him about, I mean.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There was only one part of a police officer you liked to really see – and that was his back. Gladly Javert was finally doing them this particular favour, and she felt some of her muscles relax when he walked away, finally leaving them in peace. Her good mood was not completely spoilt, but seriously dented, and for a moment she clearly was at odds with herself. Should she go or should they postpone this adventure to another day? Then again, knowing Feuilly and how odd he could be sometimes, he might try to fix the roof all by himself. Not that she didn’t trust him in being capable of it, but so many things could happen on a roof even in broad daylight. He hadn’t practiced balancing on difficult terrain as often as she had, and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him because of her following a bad mood. That was not what friends were for, right?

So when he offered to do it by himself and let her go, she gave a snort and shook her head wildly, her curls swinging around her head. “Dun be silly, Paonneau. Tha’d be jus’ makin’ Javert win, an’ I never gonna let tha’ happen! It’s I who shed feel sorry, ye know. I mean… I nearly got ye in trouble.” After all, now Javert would know Feuilly’s face, and how dangerous that would prove to be in the following days they would first have to see. Being connected with a gamine and former thief was problematic in any way, but Feuilly’s own entanglement in the ABC friends could turn this into an explosive mixture… then again, the danger was banned for now, and it would give Javert way too much credit if he continued to be on their minds, That was just what he wanted, arrogant git!

Mylène laughed when he asked her if it would be ‘safe’ for her to head home with Javert and other policemen on the prowl. How sweet, in a way! “I haven’ been safe in all me life, Paonneau”, she chuckled, tossing the oilcloth at him playfully and turned towards the house, her eyes already scanning the foot- and handholds again she had used on her way down. “Trus’ me, running from the inspectors and guards is me best trick ever. It’s almos’ kind o’ fun! Bu’ first, let’s give ye a dry place te sleep in, shall we? I scouted ahead before, it shed be safe fer ye, jus’ watch wherever I tread, kay?”

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

“But no trouble came,” he answered. It would be a lie to say he hadn't feared it would, but when Javert had retreated into the darkness he had taken that apprehension with him. Now all that was left was a vague discomfort with heights, and that could be conquered easily enough. Would have to be, as one way or the other he was going up onto the roof. Still, he felt relieved—both that the inspector had left and that he still, it seemed, had Mylene's help for the roof. It would not take so long with two, and that was especially a boon now that the sun had completely set. He hoped that the lack of light would mean Javert might not remember his face, should their paths cross again.

He caught the oilcloth, a smile breaking through his more serious expression. “Safety is... relative, I guess,” he said with something verging on amusement. None of them had ever really been safe, though Mylene had taken far more risks than he thought he ever would. She might find a thrill in running from the police, but for Feuilly, however much it made his heart pound he did not want to repeat the experience. No doubt Joly would have some explanation for how it was harmful for his health in some more general sense. Police would be out any night, he realized, they only seemed more dangerous because he had just had a run-in with them.

“I'd never seen that inspector before,” he finally commented. “I've been stopped coming back from meetings, but... not so frequently.” It happened, from time to time, just by virtue of being out at night in workingman's clothes. They would assume he was up to something unsavory, stop him and ask him what he was doing. Not since coming to Paris had they failed to let him go.

Feuilly nodded in reply to her instructions. “Yes. Thanks for your help.” He started to climb up, following the same path she had used initially. He was careful, unused to climbing up walls as it seemed Mylene was—it was not a particularly difficult ascent, but simply merited careful attention to his path. “Glad to hear the roof merely leaks, and is not entirely rotted through,” he added to her comment that it should be safe for him on the roof.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène gave a slight start and an amused snort at Feuilly’s remark, her eyes shining with something close to respect as she processed what just had come to pass. It might not seem as such a great deal, but it didn’t escape her how suddenly in this matter their usual roles had been reversed. “Hey, isn’t that usually me part, the optimism? How dare yesteal me lines!” but the tone of her voice made it clear she was nothing but teasing, and actually thanking him for his clear head the whole situation through. It was not her way to be overly sappy in such things, her gratitude was usually quite masked, but her friends could read her just well.

When Feuilly remarked that he had never seen Javer before, Mylène cocked her head with a sigh, glowering at the dark street Javert had just vanished into as if she could still stab him in the back with her mere eyes. “Be glad ye never have, Feuilly, seriously. That was… an amicable conversation compared te wha’ he CAN do. I’m glad ye could keep yer wits about ye, if he so much as had an inkling about the meetings or anything o’ the sort, it’d not only be me gettin’ locked up by him. We call him the Bloodhound… he never lets go o’ a trail.” The thought that Feuilly had already been controlled after coming from the meetings made her uneasy, and she wondered with how many of the others it might have happened. They were surely not having it easy, signing up for a rebellion, and she could only hope they would not be caught before they were ready. Ever since the first revolution, everyone knew what to do with those who dared to heed such thoughts in their mind: Off with their head as soon as possible!

It did not happen often Mylène was on the roof in company, and therefore she found her attention to be slightly diverted between her own steps and the movements she detected from Feuilly behind her. Not that she did not trust him to keep his balance up here,he had been quite apt at climbing up, but it was something like a natural instinct. Once she had reached the spot she had found earlier, she slowly, carefully eased herself down, looking at Feuilly. “Search for two holds with yer hands first, before ye shift yer balance”, she advised him with an encouraging smile. “I dun think I have to tell ye not to look down. Then, when ye feel ye have yer balance sorted out, hand me the cloth. No hasty movements, please.”

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly chuckled at the sound of Mylene's amused snort, careful as he climbed up the path she showed him. He was given to a degree of optimism himself, though perhaps its timbre was different from Mylene's—but without some optimism, he would never have let himself be drawn into such a utopian vision of the future and shared it himself...

The change in Mylene's tone at the mention of Javert brought him back to earth, as he climbed up over the edge of the roof and began to pick his way across in Mylene's footsteps. “I was afraid of that,” he admitted when she told him that Javert would have arrested them both. “Usually when I've been stopped I just tell them that I was in the area seeing a girl.” Feuilly's cheeks colored in the darkness. “I don't think that kind of thing would work with him.” Usually it worked well; there was no way they could really prove he didn't have a girl in that part of Paris, for even in the Latin Quarter there were plenty of working class girls who filled hundreds of roles for the wealthier inhabitants of the district. Why wouldn't one be carrying on with a workingman from another district? The story had come to him in desperation the first time, but it worked well—and hardly aroused the policemen's suspicions if they then happened to see him in the same area again.

There seemed to be a stronger breeze up on the roof. Feuilly wondered if there might be a storm approaching; if there was, he would be more than grateful for the repair they were about to carry out. He followed her instructions, settling into position slowly. It took him a moment to feel secure, but once he did he passed the cloth over to her.. “There has to be an interesting view from up here when it's light out.” The thought that he might paint a fan with the image of Paris itself flickered through his mind, but he doubted anyone would purchase a fan with the image of this part of Paris. No bourgeois customer actually wanted to see the world through the eyes of the man who had made the fan.