I stand in the middle of the room and give what information that I can. It's not very much, but it helps. I have a reputation, and no one doubts me, not even myself. Not anymore.

I turn my head to face first the judge, then the jury. No one doubts. This man's fate was sealed years ago. I continue speaking. I feel the eyes of the spectators boring into me. A full house.

Finishing my testimony, I turn to leave. As I walk towards the door my eyes meet those of the convict. They seem so dull, unable to comprehend what I have helped do to him. A ploy, no doubt. This man is capable of great cleverness. The hulking idiot before me is nothing but an illusion. It's intriguing. I find myself first looking, then walking back. Something about this is compelling. I can't leave until I see this justice done.

I sit down again, and turn my attention to the other witnesses. Each one says the same thing. Their mannerisms are identical; only their appearances vary. They all speak of years past, when they knew the accused. None fail to recognize him. After all, what has one to look at in prison but the other prisoners?

The men finish their speeches and the prosecuting attorney stands up to take his turn. After he concludes, the accused stands and mumbles some vague nonsense in an incomprehensible voice. Something in his defense. A sheer denial. Useless. No one here can understand him, let alone sympathize. His masquerade as a fool will backfire. The prosecutor speaks again. All of the witnesses are to testify again.

I slowly walk back to the center of the court. When I am halfway there, I am halted by a terrible sound: a voice, drowning in sorrow, calling my name. "Javert, look here!" I glance to what would seem to be the source, but can see no one but M. le Maire, who seems to be walking towards me. The crowd behind me murmurs his name.

His eyes somehow find mine. They are filled with both triumph and pain, and I have to look away. I do not remember having ever done that before. Obviously perturbed by what has just occurred, he cries out again. "Look, I tell you! You, who had it right, tell these people they have the wrong man. Tell them who I am!"

The audience goes into an uproar. Many call out for a doctor. I simply stand there, eyes gazing into the past. I think back to the days at Toulon, when I presided over the convicts. How there was a strong one who tried several times to escape, and only succeeded in lengthening his sentence. Forward to the days at M. sur M., when I suspected the mayor of being that convict. Further still to the day I denounced him, and was informed of my error. I come out of my trance and face him. "Valjean," I say softly.

He grins, but it has no mirth. He addresses the jury. "There, you heard from him. He knew it from the start. Ever since I came to town he has been watching me. If you had not found this poor scapegoat, I would no doubt be sitting there now. Everything you accuse this man of, I did indeed do. I robbed the Bishop of Digne, and stole a coin from a Savoyard. All of this is true." The man shuddered, then continued. "I have no doubt that Monsieur l'Inspecteur wishes to arrest me. He may do so."

I move forward as though in a dream; I take out the handcuffs, and apply them in front of the morbid spectators. All of them enjoy watching this. It's a Roman carnival for them. I should be feeling this as well, having finally triumphed over the man I stalked for years. Strangely, as I take Valjean away, all I can feel is emptiness.

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