The other, a Moniteur of the 15th of June, 1832, announced the suicide of Javert, adding that it appeared from a verbal report of Javert to the prefect that, having been taken prisoner in the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, he had owed his life to the magnanimity of an insurgent who, holding him under his pistol, had fired into the air, instead of blowing out his brains.
Marius read. He had evidence, a certain date, irrefragable proof, these two newspapers had not been printed expressly for the purpose of backing up Thénardier’s statements; the note printed in the Moniteur had been an administrative communication from the Prefecture of Police. Marius could not doubt.
The information of the cashier-clerk had been false, and he himself had been deceived.
Jean Valjean, who had suddenly grown grand, emerged from his cloud. Marius could not repress a cry of joy.
“Well, then this unhappy wretch is an admirable man! the whole of that fortune really belonged to him! he is Madeleine, the providence of a whole countryside! he is Jean Valjean, Javert’s savior! he is a hero! he is a saint!”
“He’s not a saint, and he’s not a hero!” said Thénardier. “He’s an assassin and a robber.”
And he added, in the tone of a man who begins to feel that he possesses some authority:
“Let us be calm.”
Robber, assassin—those words which Marius thought had disappeared and which returned, fell upon him like an ice-cold shower-bath.
“Again!” said he.