The handkerchief is his as far as Javert's concerned — he can make a dozen more just like it, with whatever scraps and bits of fabric the tailor has leftover. Javert has always been prudent, never wanting to waste anything if he can find some other use for it. He looks across at Bob with an air of bewilderment, his brow furrowing a little more than usual, forehead wrinkling as he does.

"What are you talking about?" He's never heard of such a thing. What impression is he making? That he is something of a gentleman? Kind, charitable? Javert is a little too far out of time to guess what Bob is thinking.