[Javert recoils slightly like Peace had delivered him a slap upside the jaw. Along with him, he loses his hold on the stillness of his coat, and it drapes in small curls around his arms and hips.

Insults are simple to take. Compliments prove an insurmountable challenge, especially when he feels they are unmerited.]

Tell that to the town the next time they call for my head, [he murmurs out the corner of his mouth. A dark wrinkle blooms between his eyes. He slips off the desk and firmly back onto his own two feet, and he makes to leave before some insane emotion threatens to grip him.

He pauses in the door frame awkwardly.]

You are... [His weight shifts from one heel to the other. He hisses a sigh.] A good witch, mademoiselle. I do not know why on earth you stay here. It is appreciated.

[A beat, and he cannot resists adding wryly,]

No one is more appreciative than the plants, of course. They would wither without you.