The Mayor turned livid, but Javert, who had not raised his eyes, continued,—
"I thought you were so, and have had these notions for a long time. A resemblance, information you sought at Faverolles, the strength of your loins, the adventures with old Fauchelevent, your skill in firing, your leg which halts a little—and so on. It was very absurd, but I took you for a man of the name of Jean Valjean."
"What name did you say?"
"Jean Valjean; he is a convict I saw twenty years ago when I was assistant keeper at the Toulon bagne. On leaving the galley, this Valjean, as it appears, robbed a bishop, and then committed a highway robbery on a little Savoyard. For eight years he has been out of the way and could not be found, and I imagined—in a word, I did as I said. Passion decided me, and I denounced you to the Prefect."
M. Madeleine, who had taken up the charge-book again, said with a careless accent,—
"And what was the answer you received?"
"That I was mad!"
"Well?"
"They were right."
"It is fortunate that you allow it."