Sadness，uneasiness，anxiety，depression，this fresh misfortune of being forced to flee by night，to seek a chance refuge in Paris for Cosette and himself，the necessity of regulating his pace to the pace of the child——all this，without his being aware of it，had altered Jean Valjean's walk，and impressed on his bearing such senility，that the police themselves，incarnate in the person of Javert，might，and did in fact，make a mistake.
The impossibility of approaching too close，his costume of an emigre preceptor，the declaration of Thenardier which made a grandfather of him，and，finally，the belief in his death in prison，added still further to the uncertainty which gathered thick in Javert's mind.
For an instant it occurred to him to make an abrupt demand for his papers；but if the man was not Jean Valjean，and if this man was not a good，honest old fellow living on his income，he was probably some merry blade deeply and cunningly implicated in the obscure web of Parisian misdeeds，some chief of a dangerous band，who gave alms to conceal his other talents，which was an old dodge.He had trusty fellows，accomplices'retreats in case of emergencies，in which he would，no doubt，take refuge.
All these turns which he was making through the streets seemed to indicate that he was not a simple and honest man.
To arrest him too hastily would be'to kill the hen that laid the golden eggs.'
Where was the inconvenience in waiting？
Javert was very sure that he would not escape.
Thus he proceeded in a tolerably perplexed state of mind，putting to himself a hundred questions about this enigmatical personage.
It was only quite late in the Rue de Pontoise，that，thanks to the brilliant light thrown from a dram-shop，he decidedly recognized Jean Valjean.
There are in this world two beings who give a profound start，——the mother who recovers her child and the tiger who recovers his prey.Javert gave that profound start.
As soon as he had positively recognized Jean Valjean，the formidable convict，he perceived that there were only three of them，and he asked for reinforcements at the police station of the Rue de Pontoise.One puts on gloves before grasping a thorn cudgel.
This delay and the halt at the Carrefour Rollin to consult with his agents came near causing him to lose the trail.He speedily divined，however，that Jean Valjean would want to put the river between his pursuers and himself.
He bent his head and reflected like a blood-hound who puts his nose to the ground to make sure that he is on the right scent.
Javert，with his powerful rectitude of instinct，went straight to the bridge of Austerlitz.A word with the toll-keeper furnished him with the information which he required：
'Have you seen a man with a little girl？''I made him pay two sous，'replied the toll-keeper.Javert reached the bridge in season to see Jean Valjean traverse the small illuminated spot on the other side of the water，leading Cosette by the hand.He saw him enter the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine；he remembered the Cul-de-Sac Genrot arranged there like a trap，and of the sole exit of the Rue Droit-Mur into the Rue Petit-Picpus.He made sure of his back burrows，as huntsmen say；he hastily despatched one of his agents，by a roundabout way，to guard that issue.A patrol which was returning to the Arsenal post having passed him，he made a requisition on it，and caused it to accompany him.In such games soldiers are aces.
Moreover，the principle is，that in order to get the best of a wild boar，one must employ the science of venery and plenty of dogs.
These combinations having been effected，feeling that Jean Valjean was caught between the blind alley Genrot on the right，his agent on the left，and himself，Javert，in the rear，he took a pinch of snuff.
Then he began the game.
He experienced one ecstatic and infernal moment；he allowed his man to go on ahead，knowing that he had him safe，but desirous of postponing the moment of arrest as long as possible，happy at the thought that he was taken and yet at seeing him free，gloating over him with his gaze，with that voluptuousness of the spider which allows the fly to flutter，and of the cat which lets the mouse run.
Claws and talons possess a monstrous sensuality，——the obscure movements of the creature imprisoned in their pincers.What a delight this strangling is！
Javert was enjoying himself.
The meshes of his net were stoutly knotted.He was sure of success；all he had to do now was to close his hand.
Accompanied as he was，the very idea of resistance was impossible，however vigorous，energetic，and desperate Jean Valjean might be.
Javert advanced slowly，sounding，searching on his way all the nooks of the street like so many pockets of thieves.
When he reached the centre of the web he found the fly no longer there.
His exasperation can be imagined.
He interrogated his sentinel of the Rues Droit-Mur and Petit-Picpus；that agent，who had remained imperturbably at his post，had not seen the man pass.
It sometimes happens that a stag is lost head and horns；that is to say，he escapes although he has the pack on his very heels，and then the oldest huntsmen know not what to say.Duvivier，Ligniville，and Desprez halt short.
In a discomfiture of this sort，Artonge exclaims，'It was not a stag，but a sorcerer.'Javert would have liked to utter the same cry.
His disappointment bordered for a moment on despair and rage.
It is certain that Napoleon made mistakes during the war with Russia，that Alexander committed blunders in the war in India，that Caesar made mistakes in the war in Africa，that Cyrus was at fault in the war in Scythia，and that Javert blundered in this campaign against Jean Valjean.
He was wrong，perhaps，in hesitating in his recognition of the exconvict.
The first glance should have sufficed him.He was wrong in not arresting him purely and simply in the old building；he was wrong in not arresting him when he positively recognized him in the Rue de Pontoise.
