Jean Valjean left the boulevard at once and turned into the side streets. He took as many crooked turns as he could, and now and then he suddenly went back the way he had come to see whether anyone was behind him. The moon was full. It still hung low near the horizon, so every street was split into broad blocks of shadow and light, and he kept close to the houses and walls on the dark side while he watched the bright one.
Cosette walked beside him without asking anything. With him, she felt safe. Jean Valjean did not know where he was going either. He was not sure the face had really been Javert’s, nor, if it had, whether Javert had recognised him. He had only made up his mind not to go back to the Gorbeau house.
The clock of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont was striking eleven when he passed the police station in the Rue de Pontoise. Something made him turn round, and under the lamp hung outside the station he saw three men pass one after another. One of them went into the station building. The one in front struck him as very suspicious.