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Early the next morning, Inspector Javert left Sophia asleep to go see Valjean, who was at the brick factory, despite it being a Saturday.
“I have some exciting news, Monsieur Madeliene. Paris is interested in my plan,” Javert told him.
“What plan is this?” Valjean replied.
Javert held out the letter to him, “it’s in the letter.” Valjean glanced down at it.
“Why don’t you tell me? It’s your plan.”
“I forgot. I apologise.”
“Apologise? For what?”
“I forgot you don’t read; your clerk mentioned it. Neglected your education to make your fortune, I suppose.”
“Unlike you, who married into getting a fortune.”
“I did not marry Sophia for her money. It was an arranged marriage.”

“What’s Paris interested in? I’m all ears,” Valjean said, changing the subject quickly.
“Because of the extraordinary growth in the past five years in this town, I have proposed that we make a detailed census,” Javert told him.
“Well that certainly is interesting, but how is that a police matter?”
“Modern law enforcement demands modern methods, and that means information. For example: How many people have moved here in the last decade? Where did they come from? What’s their background? Is our criminal population homegrown, or are they outsiders? Without information, we cannot know how to control the dangerous elements.”
“You might be making a mistake.”
“What mistake is that?”
“Sometimes people move to a new town to start with a clean slate. You might be doing more harm than good by prying into their private lives,” Valjean explained.
“An honest man has nothing to fear. For example, Paris and my in-laws know that my father was a thief…and my mother a prostitute. If my mother or father were to move here to Montrieul-sur-Mer...I would want everyone to know who and what they are.”
“Even if they reformed themselves?”
“Reform is a discredited fantasy. Modern science tells us that people are by nature lawbreakers or law abiders. A wolf can wear sheep’s clothing…but he’s still a wolf.” There was a moment of silence, then Valjean laughed.

“I was just thinking, Inspector, that you have been unlucky.”
“Unlucky? I don’t understand.”
“Unfortunately, you've been assigned to a dull post. You'd be happier in Paris…where everyone, either by nature or experience, is dishonest.”
“Indeed. But I'll see if I prefer Paris. They've asked me to report to the deputyprefect to further explain my idea. I'll be gone for four days.”
“Will Madame Sophia accompanying you, Inspector? I can’t imagine a woman like her being by herself.” Valjean asked out of curiosity. Javert smiled.
“Yes. She will. Sophia’s father and sisters live in Paris. She is a Parisian born and bred.”
“We’ll miss you. Good luck.”
“Thank you. And good bye.” Javert was about to turn to leave when Valjean said,
“Inspector, one moment. Please.”He went to a filing cabinet and took out some papers, “a farewell gift.”
He handed the papers to Javert. It was Valjean’s papers.
“You’re offering me a gift?” Javert asked in surprise.
“Yes, Inspector. My papers: Baptism certificate, passport, working papers from the docks of Marseille. I want to get your census off on the right foot. Pleasant journey, Inspector.”

Javert and Sophia left early the next morning, with just their horses. Whilst Javert’s horse was black, Sophia’s was a beautiful and sweet grey mare. She was wearing a warm, fur-trimmed white riding habit. The hat had a feather plume, and she certainly looked warm. As they set off, the majority of the men in town saw how beautiful Sophia was. Dressed in pure white, on a grey mare and with her golden hair, she looked like an angel from heaven. Her cream skin had colour in the cheeks and she looked so happy.

They arrived in Paris that afternoon. Instead of waiting in the line, Javert rode straight to the gate, Sophia following him.
“Move on! Have your papers ready!” the man at the gate was shouting, “it is Paris. We don’t waste time here.”
“Inspector and Madame Javert,” Javert said, “let us through.”
“Papers?” He handed them to the man at the gate, who looked at both Sophia’s and Javert’s. He leered at Sophia, who immediately felt uncomfortable. Javert shot the man an icy, challenging glance as if to say, I dare you.
“Move on.”