Javert remained silent for a moment, as if reflecting, and then raised his voice with a sad solemnity, which, however, did not exclude simplicity. "A culpable deed has been committed, sir." "What deed?" "An inferior agent of authority has failed in his respect to a magistrate in the gravest matter. I have come, as is my duty, to bring the fact to your knowledge." "Who is this agent?" M. Madeleine asked "Myself." "And who is the magistrate who has cause to complain of the agent?" "You, Monsieur le Maire." M. Madeleine sat up, and Javert continued with a stern air and still looking down,-- "Monsieur le Maire, I have come to request that you will procure my dismissal from the service." M. Madeleine in his stupefaction opened his mouth, but Javert interrupted him,-- "You will say that I could have sent in my resignation, but that is not enough. Such a course is honorable, but I have done wrong, and deserve punishment. I must be dismissed." And after a pause he added,-- "Monsieur le Maire, you were severe to me the other day unjustly, be so to-day justly." "What is the meaning of all this nonsense?" M. Madeleine exclaimed. "What is the culpable act you have committed? What have you done to me? You accuse yourself, you wish to be removed--" "Dismissed," said Javert. "Very good, dismissed. I do not understand it." "You shall do so, sir." Javert heaved a deep sigh, and continued still coldly and sadly,-- "Six weeks ago, M. le Maire, after the scene about that girl, I was furious, and denounced you." "Denounced me?" "To the Prefect of Police at Paris." M. Madeleine, who did not laugh much oftener than Javert, burst into a laugh. "As a Mayor who had encroached on the police?" "As an ex-galley slave." 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." "I must do so, for the real Jean Valjean has been found." The book M. Madeleine was holding fell from his grasp, he raised his head, looked searchingly at Javert, said with an indescribable accent,--