'Please get your mind up out of the gutter and back to the job in hand.' Rougemont could almost hear the voice of his superior officer intoning one of his more annoying stock phrases. What was the other stupid one he was so fond of? Ah - 'The Majesty of The Law'. Sometimes Rougemont thought if he heard that one again he would go quite mad. He and Jean-Marie had ended up making a joke of it, seeing how many times they could fit it into conversation without anyone noticing. And more irritating than either of these things was what would happen if you presumed to talk during a briefing

'Rougemont?'

He'd look at you like a deranged cocker spaniel until you looked back and answered 'Yes Sir?'

'What is the Inspector doing, Rougemont?'

'He's talking, Sir'

'Indeed. And when the Inspector is talking we are doing what?'

'Listening, Sir?'

'Yes, Rougemont. When the Inspector is talking we are listening.'

Once Rougemont had made the very grave mistake of muttering under his breath, 'Yeah, but when is the Inspector not talking?' Instantaneously three pairs of glaring. Superior officer type eyes were trained on him. Sergeant Jolivet (stupid pretty boy) had simply looked shocked and not very scary, whereas Sergeant Pontellier, he of the annoying verbal tic, had gone off on a long rant about insubordinate behaviour and how it undermined The Majesty of The Law'. However, it was the Inspector who had really scared him - something about those creepy grey eyes. He had just looked at Rougemont and curled his thin lips as if to say 'Your stupidity is such that I cannot even bring myself to make a response.'. On the bright side, this meant there was something that could move Inspector Javert to silence, and so Rougemont continued to act the fool.

Which, he reflected, had done him no harm in the long run. Being cheeky had got him into the force in the first place - turn up, ask for a job, smile a bit and Claude's your uncle (or Auntie in his case - Mme Claudette Henry). Rougemont had spent two happy years working for the morals brigade, where the gutter was exactly where they wanted his mind to be, before being transferred to general duties based at Rue Pontoise. Not great, but you got a certain cachet from working under old man Javert, a mixture of awe and sympathy from your brother officers which went some way towards making up for Javert's high expectations and interminable monologues. Suddenly Rougemont felt a sharp dig in the ribs

"Wake up Joseph," Grantaire hissed, "SHE will be on in a minute. Wouldn't want to miss it."

Rougemont settled back into the theatre seat and smiled to himself. In the end his smart mouth had paid off again. It had been a couple of day after he'd made the remark about Javert always talking that the Inspector had called him into his office. Rougemont had fully expected to be handed his dismissal papers and had entered the room with considerable trepidation. Javert had merely leant back on his chair, smiled nastily and said, "We've gone political Rougemont".

Rougemont had winced in confusion. Did the old devil really have to play games with him?

"I'm sorry Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I don't understand"

"Political; adjective - 'pertaining to politics'. You see, in this country we have a government. There's a king and . . ." Old habits die hard and Rougemont stopped listening at this point. When he finally decided to pay attention again the Inspector was staring at him fixedly.

"Well, Rougemont?"

"Well what, Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"

"Are you prepared to accept the assignment I'm offering you?"

"Which would involve what precisely, Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"

"As I have already explained, going undercover as a student in order to obtain information about possible revolutionary political groups and reporting back to me at periodic intervals."

Rougemont was sure it must be Christmas, "Of course, Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"

"Good. So nice that we've finally found a use for you. Although I hope I'm not going to regret this. Dismissed."

And so it was that Joseph Rougemont found himself (under the alias of Joseph-Marie Nouis) sitting in a seat at Les Varietes, amongst new friends, waiting for the celebrated Olympia to appear on stage. Oh, and the government was paying. What a lovely evening this was turning out to be.
Still grinning, he turned to Grantaire.

"Well, I wish they'd hurry up and start. No-one's here for all this boring pre-show circus nonsense and they know it. Why bother?"

"Concur. Still, we must be philosophical about such things. The pleasure of seeing the divine Mlle Olympia must be paid for some how. And Jehan seems to be enjoying himself."

Rougemont looked around at his companions. Jean Prouvaire was watching the stage with rapt attention, Courfeyrac was fiddling with his programme and Bossuet had apparently wandered off to buy oranges. Sometimes - often - Rougemont felt extremely guilty about betraying these young men he called friends. He had become acquainted with them through Bahorel and had masqueraded as a member of a recently defunct revolutionary cell, and first year lawyer. He had quickly become real friends with Grantaire and Bossuet. In fact he liked them all, with the exception of Enjolras (rather too reminiscent of Inspector Javert for comfort). . Sometimes he wondered what he would do when the time came to turn his friends in. Would he be able to betray them? He secretly hoped that he would be able to talk them out of doing anything seriously revolutionary and thus avoid the issue - although he doubted his ability to achieve this end with Enjolras, Combeferre or Feuilly. He was roused from his reveries by another sharp jab in the ribs from Grantaire.
"Now. I think she's going to come on now!"

And so she did. Mlle Olympia herself, fairest and most famous courtesan in Paris was welcomed onto the stage with a universal intake of breath followed by spontaneous applause. This was her first stage appearance in a year (she had travelled Europe with her lover, the Vicomte D'Herouville) and it seemed that the audience were more than pleased to welcome 'The Rose of Pantin' back. She stepped gracefully to the front of the stage, the limelights making her sequinned dress sparkle like first frost, and said in a melodious voice

"Welcome my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen. Before we begin I would like to trespass on your patience for just long enough to both describe my delight at being here and to respectfully dedicate this production, at the behest of the composer, to her Grace Madame La Comtesse de Chagny"

She was, put simply, the single most beautiful thing Rougemont had ever seen in his life. Thick black hair piled in intricate knots and curls about her fine face. Wide green eyes fringed with black lashes. Her skin was dazzlingly white, complemented perfectly by the dress of russet silk and sequins whose sleeves sat almost indecently low on her shoulders. Rougemont could not help but wish it would hurry up and slip off altogether. Grantaire leant over and remarked in an awed whisper, "Pardieu, more than worth the wait!"