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“Don’t say that, Javert,” Valjean told him reproachfully, kneeling down next to him.
He made a half-hearted shrug in response. What was it to him, really, if Valjean felt some misplaced guilt over allowing him to throw himself into the Seine? He’d been rescued unwillingly, after all.
“It’s only the truth.” Only ever the truth that they would both be better off were he not alive. Valjean had his daughter, and the girl’s new idiot of a husband. Valjean would let a half-mad former police inspector drag him down with him. And he himself had no reason to be here.