Stepping up to a neglected porch, Javert swung open the squeaking door to the inn. He received only a few idle glances when he sat down at a back table, placing his backpack in an accessible position on the floor.

The host, a wiry man of about Javert's age, came to look down upon him most disdainfully. "We've rented all the rooms, goodman," he began, wiping out a beer stein with a less than respectable dish-rag. "The stables are going for ten sous." Javert had already began listing this man's possible charges in his head. Health violations, over pricing . . .

"All I wish is a meal, Monsieur," Javert replied, trying to rid his voice of the more distinguished accent that normally accompanied his speech. It wouldn't do to sound out of character.

"Oh. Thirty sous, M'sieur. Unless, of course, you want the special -"

"No."

The man turned and shouted up the stairs. "Eponine! Come down here and help this-" he paused- "FINE gentleman get some bread and cheese."

A thin girl, about the age of 15, came running down the stairs. "Oui, Papa," she said, fishing around in the cabinets for the bread.

Th�nardier caught Eponine by the arm. "And see if he has anything of value on him." he whispered.

The young girl nodded and started toward the man sitting at the table in the corner. His head was bent down close to the table's surface.

"Hallo, Monsieur! Wasn't it a fine day today?" Eponine chattered, setting a plate of stale bread in front of him. The man looked up at her with a stoic expression on his face. She went back to get the cheese, noticed a small spot of mold and scraped it off. "I just love it when the sun shines in Montfermeil. It hardly ever does, don't you think, M'sieur?" She got the same expression as she did before. Eponine sighed and turned to go. That's when she noticed the small knapsack beside him. There's got to be something in there! she thought. She caught a glimpse of something glittering. YES! Silver! Papa's going to love this. She slowly picked the sack up.

"I'd prefer that you'd put that down, mademoiselle," the man said.

"Oh, but M'sieur, I'm just moving it out of your way to--" At that point, the buckle snapped open and out fell two shiny pairs of handcuffs, a nightstick, a pistol- and a snuff box.

Eponine paled. The guest, obviously more than he seemed, stood up calmly and, without changing his expression, yelled in a deep and rather imperious voice: "Now!"

Several of the less-noble patrons of the bar jumped from their stools or chairs; many of them were no doubt in trouble with the law, and thus naturally skittish. The host came skidding into the main hall with a platter of rabbit stew, and Javert saw a sort of realization dawn on his face. Apparently, his authority was once more shining through in his face - he was glad he no longer had to repress it. It came so naturally. He gave the host a small smile as the platter dropped onto his feet.

"Nobody move!" came Captain Bravet's voice from the door. Twenty of the Prefect's best men surrounded the inn, their rifles no doubt were aimed at the bar. Javert fluidly snatched his pistol up from the floor, and his handcuffs found their way quickly to Eponine's wrists. The disguised guest aimed his gun in the host's direction - to find the man making a mad dash for his back door.

Twenty successive musket shots were heard as Th�nardier and his wife ran with apparent experience away from the scene. Amazingly, the bullets never found their mark, and even the other little girl, perhaps the host's younger daughter, managed to run to melt into the forest. Javert's own weapon never sounded-it had traveled to train on the older girl. Eponine, was that her name? She'd made a move for the kitchen, but a stern word from the Inspector stayed her feet as though she'd been welded to the floor.

Javert himself was not in the least bit pleased. The Prefect would hear about his soldier's horrid aim, and the officers stationed here tonight would most certainly not be having a pleasant trip home. Finally, he turned his stony eyes onto the young inn-keeper's daughter. At least he had one criminal in custody . . . even if it was a juvenile, would-be pick-pocket . . . and a female.

"We will go to my house," Javert said. "It is the law to take juveniles to your residence instead of jail. You may go and get clothes for your stay."

Eponine widened her eyes. Well, I'm eager to see what his house looks like. I've always wondered... she thought with a smile.

Shaking his head slightly, the inspector seriously considered questioning this law. He didn't even like children! They seemed not to be drawn to him either . . . not that he would have based his argument on personal preference, but children were so unruly, and noisy, and dependent, and needed to be entertained during all their waking hours. This law placed children in the hands of whatever officer rescued them; that was obviously not always going to be the best environment for growing, lawful citizens. What if some officers were unable or simply unfit to care for them?

The children would become thieves or liars, or worse. This could not be allowed. He decided to take up the matter with someone when he returned to Paris, and see if he could maybe get out of his own situation along the way.

They entered through the door on the second floor of a privately owned complex, and she was automatically in what could have been a sitting room. A desk, with a small pile of neat papers and a pen with ink well on its surface, stood to one corner, and a simple wooden chair with a stand beside it and a small sofa were the only other furnishings in the room. One could see a kitchen through another door; it appeared to have a single counter, an oven, and a cupboard. His bedroom, Ponine decided, was probably behind the closed door to the left.

The wooden floors spoke of near-poverty, and the entire small house was kept only just barely in working order, as though the owner hadn't enough money to keep a decent coat of paint on the walls.

Eponine was the first to speak. She ahemmed before asking, "Are you going through a rough time, Monsieur L'Inspector?"

He looked at her. "No."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence.

"Uhh, where should I put my things?" Eponine asked, holding up a small carpet-bag.

Javert thought for a minute. He hadn't really thought about sleeping arrangements. He sighed. "You may put your things in the bedroom in the back," he said. "I will sleep on the sofa."

Eponine opened the door that was on her left to the small room. Again, the floors were bare, and there was practically no furniture in the room. The only furnishings in the small room were a bed and a small table next to it with drawers, for Javert's clothes, Eponine presumed. She put her carpet-bag on the floor next to the bed and decided just to live out of her suitcase for a while. She was too afraid to mess up the order of the room. She sat on the bed and bounced a little on it, trying it out. It was very squeaky, Eponine noticed.

A clock on the wall informed her that it was around ten thirty: definitely time for bed. She quickly changed from her working clothes into her night shirt, and fell asleep just as rapidly.

Javert got up and stretched. Without thinking, he made his way to the door to his bedroom, opened it, and found himself staring at the young girl's bare back.

"OH MY GOD!" he yelled, quickly shutting the door. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle! Oh god, I'm sorry!" he apologized, deeply embarrassed.

That was something Eponine was NOT expecting. Lucky for her- and the Inspector- she had started to get dressed with her back to the door. She quickly finished getting dressed and contemplated going out. He's not even going to be able to look me in the eye, she thought. She sat on the squeaky bed, still made from when she slept on top of the covers last night. Something about sleeping in a policeman's bed... it just wasn't quite right. Her stomach rumbled. But I am kinda hungry, she thought. She put a hand to her stomach as she remembered she hardly had any dinner last night. Just some of that awful "rabbit stew" Papa had cooked up. Sometimes I wonder exactly what Papa puts in his food, she thought. Then she thought about what she had seen lying around the kitchen, and decided she didn't want to know. Some things are just better left unknown, she thought as she walked out of the door.

Her eyes met Javert's when she walked out of the room. He blushed a deep red.

"I am so sorry, Mademoiselle," he apologized again.

"It's okay, Monsieur. But if you don't mind, may I have some breakfast?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. There is some bread on the cabnet up there and some coffee in the drawer there." He pointed. With that, he walked to his bedroom to get dressed.

Eponine sighed and went to the cabniet where the bread was. She found a baguette and sat down at the counter in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, as Eponine was finishing the last of her baguette, Javert came out in some very sharp-looking clothes.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Eponine was confused. "Ready for what?"

"It's Sunday. Specifcally, the second Sunday in advent. We're going to church."

Eponine's eyes widened. She'd never been to church in her life. She stood up and wiped the crumbs off her shirt. THIS is going to be an adventure....

Taking his eyes off of the crucifix for a few seconds, he looked at the girl who was sitting ridgledly in the hard wooden pew. She looks as if she's never even BEEN to church, he thought. He shook the thought away and watched as the procession made its way up the aisle. He'd always liked the lighting of the advent candles and the burning of the incense. It was fun to watch, and one of the most sacred rites that he was permitted to witness all through the year. One year, he remembered, an elderly couple had been allowed to light and place one of the candles - the result had been, in Javert's eyes, no less than blasphamous. They'd put the candle in the wrong spot, tipped it over three times while trying to light it, and eventually the preist himself had been forced to walk over and correct them.

But now, the Father took the task upon himself, and lit the incense burner, rather uneventfully.

As the sweet smell of the incense wafted over them, he breathed deeply and smiled - a small smile, to be sure. He looked over at Eponine and noticed her nose twitching. She sniffed, took a deep breath and--

ACH-OOOO! The loud sneeze echoed in the huge cathedral.

Javert put his head in his hands.

"Sorry, M'sieur," Eponine said pitifully. She sniffed. "I'm just not used to this."

As the mass progressed, that became more and more evident to Javert.

First of all, when they did the sign of the cross, Eponine just could not get it right. What was a simple head-chest-left shoulder-right shoulder turned into head-right shoulder-chest-head-left shoulder-chest-right shoulder-head with her. The procession of the eucharist was a nightmare - she had nearly dropped the chalice, the preist just barely being able to catch it, and prevent an unforgivable wine stain. And when the mass ended, she jumped out of her seat while the other people in the church were still seated. Javert fixed her with an icy stare until she sat down. The only good thing was that she was able to sing the hymns right. Javert had tried to simply ingore the mishaps, and take in the service as calmly and respectfully as he'd always done. But the sniffles in the pew beside him were sufficient to remind him of the fact that this was an extremely unusual Sunday . . .

Javert kept a stony silence while walking home through the snowy streets, inwardly fuming at the young woman that strode beside him. It was some connsolation that she was absolutely petrified at the moment, and kept to herself as much as he did.

He certainly was angered, but a small part of him stated that it was partly her parent's fault for never taking her to church. Indeed, the law would have held them responsible for many of her inadequacies, such as a lack of education. Perhaps it was even their fault that she'd become a pick-pocket -

And since when, Javert, do one's parents decide one's vocation? He reestablished his sneer, pulled his hat back over his eyes, and grasped his cane more firmly.

Javert thought vaugely that he should have to purchase a rosary for this young lady who stayed with him - she would most certainly be needing it.

Later that same Sunday, Javert sat at his desk, cleared to accomodate two for dinner, and cluttered again with a few plates and glasses. He sighed, and set his fork down on his napkin, watching Eponine pick rather akwardly at her fish and potatoes. He couldn't live with this discomfort forever - he was fine with cold, official silence, but he was not well accostumed to . . . whatever this was. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been at a loss for something to say.

Sometimes it seemed like he was the only person in the world who was comfortable with icy silence.

Well, if he couldn't find anything useful to discuss, there were always those strange phenomena known as compliments. He reviewed Eponine silently. She was not a bad looking girl at all, he supposed, though he wasn't the type to notice. People's faces had always been sort of an outlet for character to him, not something to be judged only for beauty; the prefect had once mentioned that a certain singer was rather attractive - truth be known, Javert hadn't noticed at all until then.

But now, with his somewhat limited knowledge of looks and such, Eponine was not unattractive. Her new wardrobe was definitely a plus, as she no longer looked like a pick-pocketing beggar running a dishonest chop-house. Her hair, when washed, was a nice cinnamon-chestnut shade, instead of the greasy, mouse brown locks that he'd found her in.

His keen policeman/gentleman's instincts, however, told him these were not the compliments to be made.

A glint of silver caught his eye. On Eponine's small wrist was a delicate looking bracelet, with her name engraved in flowing script on the top. He had been under the impression that her family had been in no sort of financial state to afford such jewelry. Perhaps it had been stolen? But no, it had her name egraved on it. Javert thought back to last person he'd known to steal silver . . . Oh, will you stop thinking about Valjean? he's dead, damn him, so just leave it be. You caught him - he's dead - it's over. A prideful smile slipped across his mouth for a moment, and he took a sip of wine to hide it.

Eponine sat picking at her dinner of fish and potatoes. She still felt that Javert didn't approve of her entirerly. She fiddled with the small silver braclet on her left hand. She loved that bracelet. It had been bought for her when she was a small child- seven or eight years old, perhaps- with "Eponine" in small script on top. More importantly, it had been bought for her when her parents had loved her.

"That's a-" Javert paused and cleared his throat. "-Lovely bracelet you have."

And with that, Eponine started to cry.

Javert watched with discomfort as Eponine's eyes filled up with tears. Her lower lip started to tremble, and then they came. The tears. They streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed, putting her head into her arms on the table.

Javert widened his eyes. He didn't know what to do in a situation like this. He replaced his wine glass, and leaned slightly over the table. "Mademoiselle . . . are you all right?" When she continued to sob on the surface of his desk, he rose from his chair, akwardly, wondering if he should try to comfort her. What a strange concept. He walked around the small table to stand beside her, gazing bewilderedly down at her - and at that moment, he no loger had any choice. Eponine turned into his arms - which were open with indecision at the moment - and began to sob into his coat, a much softer available surface. He glanced about uneasily, as if expecting support from behind him. When he found none, he reached about and patted her slowly and softly on the back.

"Really, it's okay, please stop crying," Javert said uneasily. "Eponine? Was it something I said?"

The only reply Javert got was the gradually subsiding sobs from the young girl on his shoulder.

After a while, the crying stopped. Eponine sniffed and lifted her head off of Javert's shoulder. She wiped her tears from her face.

"It's just that (sniff) well, you just haven't called me (sniff) Eponine and (sniff) it just moved me," her voice broke on the last word.

Javert raised an eyebrow. Clearly, there was something more, but he didn't feel he should pursue the matter any more. He sat back down at his seat and started to eat again, and he watched Eponine do the same, still sniffing and wiping the excess tears from her face.

"What about your brat, Eponine?" Montparnasse asked.

"What about her?"

"Don't you want her back?"

"I suppose."

Gueulemer slammed his fist into his other hand. "I'd just like to beat up that damned police Inspector. He's always spoiling everybody's plans. No one can pull off a decent con in this town anymore," he remarked, still slamming his fist.

The others agreed.

Suddenly, they heard a whistle from the back. Babet had found an open window from behind.

Th�nardier smiled, a slow, evil smile, like a fox's. "Good."

The window was ajar enough for most of them to get through, although Gueulemer had just a spot of trouble. But the rest of the gang got him unstuck, then looked where they were.

It was a dark hallway with doors on both sides. The paint was peeling off the walls and the doors were crooked and hanging on their hinges. The whole place stank as if it hadn't been cleaned in weeks.

"Reminds me of home," Th�nardier said.

"His apartment is this way," Montparnasse said, pointing to the right. "Number 2138."

The gang tiptoed down the hallway, stopping at number 2138. The door was slightly open.

"This is gonna be an easy one, boys," Th�nardier said, grinning.

They slipped in the door quietly.

Suddenly, Javert heard a noise behind him. Someone was in the apartment. Javert turned around slowly and put his hand to his right hip, only to be sorely dissapointed that his nightstick, pistol, and handcuffs were on the other side of the room. Oddly enough, his snuff box was still in his pocket.

He tiptoed silently in the darkness of the room, praying to God Eponine would stay in the bathroom. He stopped when he felt something in front of him. A match was somehow lit, revealing that he was face to face- or rather, face to chest- with a very muscular man who was slowly pounding his left fist into his right hand. Three other men were standing behind him, smiling evily.

"And we're going to keep you like this.... will stand guard," a familiar voice said.

Papa! Eponine thought fearfully. Her heart started to race. What is he doing here? How did he find me?

Javert was on the floor rather quickly, dazed by a series of blows from the hulking Gueulemer. They had taken him down while demanding of him the location of the leader's daughter, Eponine. He felt another stinging kick to his ribs, and a gruff question from Th�nardier: "Where the hell is she?"

Javert only moaned, lying on his side on the floor.

"Ah, just tie him up. He won't be saying much for a while." To ensure his statement, as Gueulemer dragged Javert to his feet, he punched him in the jaw yet again. Babet handed him a section of rope from the leader's knapsack, and smiled at Javert's bloody face. As the inspector was being tied to his chair, Th�nardier took the liberty of explaining.

"Now, M. L'Inspector, until you either tell us where the little brat is, or she arrives, we'll be keeping an eye out. And we're going to keep you like this - plus maybe, oh , a little extra persuasion - and Gueulemer here will stand guard."

Gueulemer, determined to be as useful as possible, struck the inspector nearly to the point of tipping his chair.

"We will be back. And when we return, she better be here."

The gang left, leaving Javert to Gueulemer.

He was also somewhat angry with himself for being so neglegent. He could have and should have kept Eponine down at the prefecture. There was a room there for witness protection, and the like, guarded twenty-four hours a day. Her father never would have made it past the front door, much less been able to beat her caretaker to the ground.

Now Eponine had probably fled out the back window, after hearing her father's voice. Perhaps she'd gone for good, perhaps not - Javert wouldn't be surprised if she simply ducked out of sight forever. She'd been raised a thief and a pick-pocket, and probably abused, he knew - such children were often very much afraid of their parents. It was too bad . . . he'd have to track her down again, to be sure she didn't persue a life of crime. He really did wish she'd come back, so that he personally could see to her honesty.

The real reason he wanted her back, he conciously supposed, was that he'd proabably be shot by the gang if she didn't return . . . after some painful retribution, no doubt.

He heard steps coming from behind him, but they were not the clumsy, heavy stride that belonged to Gueulemer. Someone smaller was aproaching. By their sound, Eponine. He had to admit he was surprised she'd found the courage to come so soon . . . his opinion of her strength and bravery moved up a notch or two. He was even happy that his original trust in her hadn't been misplaced.

Of course, he was only glad to see her because it meant one less thief on the streets and one less bullet in his head.

Of course.

"...be back. And when.... be here."

Footsteps, then the front door closed. Eponine opened the door a little more amd saw Gueulemer saunter around Monsieur l'Inspector, whom she now saw was tied to a chair, blood streaming from his nose. Despite all this, Javert's face remained stoical. Eponine was now able to hear whole conversations.

"So what have you got to eat around here, Monsieur l'Inspector? Anything good Monsieur l'inspector? Here's some bread and cheese or - ooo! - fish!"

Gueulemer gave Javert a taunting smile. "Or perhaps I'll just take a little tour around your fine abode."

Javert said nothing and Gueulemer went into the bedroom. Eponine saw her chance and she ran out into the kitchen area.

"Oh M'sieur l'Inspector! I'm sorry I didn't get out here sooner, but I didn't want to be taken back by Papa!" She went to the back of the chair and looked at the tight knots her father's gang had made around Javert's wrists. Eponine dropped to her knees and started an attemped to untie them. Suddenly Eponine heard heavy, clunking footsteps behind her.

"Hello, Eponine."

Eponine looked up and back. "Uhh, hello, M'sieur Gueulemer."

"And maybe you'll stay here this time and not run off. Well, since you are both tied to chairs, I suppose I can leave you and get Th�nadier. I trust you won't be going anywhere?" he said with a smirk. Gueulemer turned smartly on his heel and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

There was silence in Javert's apartment for a while.

"So," Eponine said.

"So."

"Have you got any ideas as how we could get out of this?" Eponine asked.

"If I had an idea, I would be saying it right now, not just sitting here," Javert replied testily.

Eponine backed off.

After a while, Eponine started to doze off. A light snoring from the other chair told her that M. l'Inspector had the same idea. Her head started to nod and her eyelids drooped. Suddenly, Eponine was aware of a bright white light that was slowly filling the room.

"Come with me, where chains will never bind you..."

Eponine was now fully awake, looking at the ghost in front of her. She had beautiful blond hair, although some had been chopped off, pearly white teeth, and a beautiful profile. Eponine started in amazement. Who can this be? she thought.

Meanwhile, Javert had snapped awake from his doze, also aware that his apartmentwas now brighter than it was five minutes ago.

"All your grief, at last, at last behind you..."

"Hey! I know you!" he suddenly cried.

Eponine jerked her head back as far as it could go. "Who is it, M. l'Inspector?" she whispered.

"You're that whore I arrested, well, tried to arrest, anyway, a couple years ago! I still think you should've gotten six months for attacking that gentelman," Javert said to the apparition.

"M. l'Inspector, what are you DOING?" Eponine hissed.

The lovely ghost stopped singing, and just looked at the pitiful sight in front of her. "Well, I come back all the way from heaven to free you, and this is how you repay me, M. Javert? Well, maybe I'll just go back," the ghost said. She started to fade out.

"No! Madame! Please! He-" Eponine tried to stop the ghost of Fantine from disappearing forever, but to no avail. No, it was Eponine's turn to be dissapointed in Monsieur Javert. She shook her head slowly.

"What?" Javert asked, bewildered.

"You . . . aaaghhh! She was going to help us and you . . . aaaghhh!"

"Well, it's not my fault she broke the law! She should have paid the consequences." Javert shuffled about in his seat for a few moments. "And as it is, we'll just have to find our own way out. So stop complaining!"

A small girl that walked by broke Marius' thought pattern - such as it was. Her face he recognized as being the sister of one of his better friends. "Hello, Azelma!" he called, causing the child to turn about quickly, startled. "Have you seen Eponine lately? Why, of course you have, she's your sister! How silly of me! Do you know where she's staying, or rarther, will you tell me where I might find her? I've not seen her about for a while, and simply wondered what had become of her. I mean, when one doesn't show up around one's normal haunts, it implies that something is wrong. Eponine really isn't the type to change routine, either, do you think? She's such a nice girl like that; she knows what she likes! You've got to admire that! I always say that decisiveness is a wonderful quality; it's important if you're to be a friend of anyone! Say, come to mention it, I'd say Eponine is rather like that, isn't she?" he nodded and smiled, taking a sip of his drink. "Knows what she likes! I suppose she's rather decisive! It's an important quality you know."

Azelma cocked an eyebrow at him. "My sister is staying with a police inspector at apartment 2138, Rue de le Nuage. If you wish to speak with her, feel free to visit." This she said cooly, and traveled away before Marius could incorporate her in another of his 'conversations'.

As he watched her go, Marius called for the bill, and sent a smile and nod after her. "Such a nice girl! Well, I suppose I should go and talk to Eponine, that would be awful nice of me. I wonder if she's very lonely without her parents. Hey! I know! I'll go and talk to her! That would be nice."

He paid his tab and left with a smile.

"Say, Monsieur, would you happen to know if an Inspector lives here? Well of course you would, you're the landlord, how silly of me! I think it's number 2138, but I'm not to sure. Yes, yes, that's the one. Can I just go there without any hassle, or do I have to sign something?"

The landlord looked at him, shook his head, and said, "I hate my life."

Marius took that as a cue just to go on to apartment 2138. "Such a nice man."

When he arrived at the apartment, he knocked at the door. "Hello? Eponine? Hi, it's Marius! Azelma told me where you were, I hope you don't mind me barging in, but I just wanted to talk to you since I haven't talked to you in while and -"

"M'sieur Marius? Just come in- please!"

Marius opened the door to find Eponine and that nice Inspector tied up in back to back chairs. "Eponine? What's wrong?"

His friend rolled her eyes, as the inspector strained to see over both their shoulders. He shushed Marius with a quick glare, and whispered harshly: "Quick! Untie us, boy, they'll be back soon!"

Marius' face lit up. "Oh! A game! I love games! What are you two supposed to be? A pair of spies, right, I guess. And now you've been captured by the evil forces of the enemy mafia, and they're going to shoot you! Well, I haven't been invited, but one more person's always welcome in a game, right? All right, I'll help!" He untied the 'spies' bonds, and Javert quickly stood up, checked to make sure that Eponine was all right, and, while retrieving his pistol and handcuffs, grabbed Marius by the collar.

"Now, listen carefully, young man. This most certainly is not a game. You must be very quiet. We are going to leave, but we must go quickly. Now hurry out the door."

The party of three left the small apartment and traveled silently door the hall, Marius, for once, being quiet.

But his quiet was not to last. The Th�nardier gang turned the corner, with impeccable timing, to face the small escape band. Javert and Eponine halted in horror, their situation becoming no better as Marius raised his hands with a smile. "Well, I suppose they win! My, that was exciting, do we get to play again?"

Javert shoved the boy back behind him, his pistol drawn and pointed directly at Th�nardier.

The gang leader didn't seem intimidated, as he made the most of Pontmercy's misunderstanding. "Yes, I guess we do win, don't we, M. L'Inspector? Now hand over the girl."

Eponine screamed as Marius began to push her towards her father. She kicked him valiently in the shins, and he backed off, confused, as she attatched herself to the comforting folds of Javert's overcoat. He looked back at her, his dread apparent on his normally stony face. At the look of fear and trust on her face, he turned back to the band of thugs.

"Get out of here, you bastard villains! The law places her square in my hands, and damned if I'll let the likes of you take her back." His waving of the gun seemed to impress them very little. Aware of the clich�, and yet finding no better words to explain his duty, he sighed and spread his arms behind him, so as to protect the girl clinging to his back. "You'll have to get through me first."

It was easier done than said. Instantly, three pistols were jammed against his forehead, and the gang pushed him slowly back to the wall. Eponine kept behind him, pressed herself as tightly as she could between the wall and the inspector. He blocked one of her father's attempts to grab at Eponine, and had to duck as one of the guns discharged, sending a bullet through the wall where his head had been.

The duck was a bad idea, he supposed, as he felt himself taken down once again by the pack of thieves and cons. Once his arms were pinned behind him and he was held firmly on the floor, it was obvious that he stood no chance. Their only other recourse was Marius, and, well . . . he was sitting off in the corner with a bruised shin, pouting over Eponine's harsh treatment.

Javert closed his eyes slowly as his hands and feet were once again bound - much tighter this time - and watched with severe regret as Ponine was led out of he building by her father, who had begun to hit her even before they were outside in the night.

"Well," Marius commented, standing up and straightening his trousers. "That wasn't as fun as I thought it would be. I mean, honestly, they actually tried to shoot you! Someone could get hurt, don't they know? By the way,when will Ponine come back? She should play with us next time, but not in this violent manner. Someone could get hurt! Did you notice they actually tried to shoot you?"

Javert didn't listen to the boy's incessant rambling, and rolled himself onto his stomach. Eponine was gone . . . he knew it meant that she'd become a thief again, that she'd be swallowed up in the filthy slums of Paris once more, as so many were. And strangly, he felt a sort of regret that perhaps wasn't only tied to his duty . . .

Running toward the drain cover, something else caught his eye. It didn't move, and it didn't talk. The late day sun glinted over something silver. On closer inspection, Javert saw a small white arm with a small silver braclet on the tiny wrist.

He stopped. A feeling of dread was froming in the pit of his stomach. Please God, let it not be who I think it is...

Javert moved the other dead so he could get a better glimpse of the body. The face was revealed. Javert swallowed hard. Oh God. Eponine... he thought to himself. She must have died at the barricades while he was down in the basement. He took her small hand, and seeing the large hole in it, choked back a tear. He kissed the cold, dead hand and went on with his chase for Jean Valjean.

END

stories