Cosette's eyes flew open at the sound of a shout. It was gone as soon as it had begun, and she wasn't at all sure if she'd really heard it at all until she heard a frantic scramble to echo the brief sound of panic. She held her breath to hear a person- a man- mutter to himself. Perhaps he had had some sort of nightmare, Cosette wondered. She strained to hear more. A moment went by.
"Damn creature," she thought she might have heard. Perhaps not a nightmare, then, but a rat. All at once, she was certain. Cosette was not afraid of rats herself, but she had seen the rather degrading effects of such a fear on more than one man at the inn, and the scenario fit. She slid out from between the sheets, still wearing her clothes from that day. They were warm, and Father had not made her take them off to sleep, which only made her love him more. Lots of things he did made her do that, and she was glad. She padding into the dark hall, and edged along the few feet of wall before the neighboring door.
Cosette crept into the room with all the practice of a child who had been creeping for as long as she could remember, ready to scurry should the need arise. There was almost a topsoil of dust across the floor, and cobwebs everywhere the wall met the ceiling. A hush lay over the place. A patched coat lay folded neatly in the corner, with an old cloth cap placed on top. She crouched down and picked up the cap, rolling it over in her hands, feeling the material soft from long wear. For all that wear, though, it was clean.
"What are you doing here, p'tite?" She jumped and turned around to see a man looming behind her in the moonlight.
He was tall and thin, but not as quite as large as her Papa. His hair would have been curly had it not been pulled into a tight queue. There were bits escaping into his face, but he must have given up on those. His whiskers were wild, and Cosette was reminded of a lion, if lions were dark and human. His face was just a little too dark, and his eyes were just a little too light, if he wanted to match, at least. He glanced at the door, then back at her, his eyes shining silver in the dark. He wasn't smiling the way most adults were expected to when they came suddenly across small children. Of course, Cosette was used to this, but since she had gone with her Papa she'd realized that it wasn't very nice. He took a step towards her, with a careful blankness that bordered on nervous.
"Sorry, monsieur. I-I'll go now." The man quirked his mouth into a soft snarl or a hard smile, a flash of crooked teeth and unreadable expression.
"You may stay if you like, p'tite. I don't mind." The man stalked back to where he had come from, a rickety table in the corner. His legs stretched underneath it when he sat down. Cosette thought him more of a dog than a cat, the way he sprawled and huffed occasionally to himself. So wolf more than a lion. He didn't say anything more. Perhaps he hoped she'd leave anyway- but he seemed the type that would tell her to go, if he wanted her gone. As she stood by the door, he stopped his shuffling to throw her another awkward expression of… something. Cosette walked slowly over, considering whether or not that had been an invitation. Father was unlikely to appreciate her talking long to this man. The man she called Papa didn't like to stop and talk to anyone aside from the beggars on the street. It was strange habit, but very kind, just like him. She had decided it was much preferable to someone who would talk to everyone except the beggars on the street. But he didn't seem to have any friends, and it made her wonder why nobody else saw how wonderful he was.
Cosette slowed a few feet from the man. He did not look at her. He was expertly shuffling a stained pack of cards, watching his hands move with a strange expression, as if he was annoyed they would dare commit such an act in his sight. He kept going, though. Cosette looked around to the corners of the room, and the cobwebs She didn't see a bed. Did he sleep on the floor? The man said nothing, and had turned his glinting eyes away.
Perhaps Papa would have to find a friend elsewhere. Two men so quiet would never strike up a conversation.
"What is your name, p'tite?" he inquired abruptly.
"My name is Euphrasie." Cosette was quite proud of this knowledge. Her father had told her this a few days after he had taken her away, and although she wouldn't like to be called by it, it was nice to know. "Though that is not what my Mama called me."
"Do you live here with your mother?" Cosette did not reply. The man looked her up and down. He saw her heavy mourning dress. Cosette did not live with her mother. On the contrary, she didn't remember her mother at all. The man looked away, shifting almost imperceptibly. He knew it wouldn't be acceptable to ask who died, or when, or how. It was late at night, and he was tired, and being polite by saying less would take less effort than being rude by actually doing something. It was allowed, though, to question a child idly. And he would. For there were only three garrets in this building- his own, the landlady's, and the other man. This little girl could be anyone's he chastised himself inwardly- but she wasn't his, so she was someone else's. She might tell him something important.
"You're grasping at straws, Javert."
Cosette tilted her head at him.
"That is not my name," she reminded him, in case he'd been talking to her. "Is it yours?"
"What?"
"Were you talking to yourself just now? Do you do that often?" The man narrowed his eyes at her, making shards of silver to peer through.
"My name is Etienne." He looked back at his cards, and Cosette followed his line of sight.
"Where did you come from?" he asked her, shuffling still.
"Across the hall, monsieur. My Papa has gone out, and Madame fell asleep." In fact, the landlady had been snoring with a vengeance Cosette could hardly have imagined, and it had been very difficult to fall asleep herself in the midst of it.
"Then I heard you in here."
"Ah," the man coughed slightly. "You heard that." He carefully lay out four cards, face down. He deliberately flipped them over, one by one. Once they were all visible, he stared at them for a minute, then muttered something under his breath and kept on shuffling.
"There was a bird in here. I let it out the window, and that was all." Cosette looked at the window- it was ajar- and decided that that was at least as plausible as a rat.
Cosette remembered who he reminded her of. There had been a woman, in colorful skirts and too much jewelry, who had come to the Thenardier's inn one summer. Madame had not let her in, but the woman hadn't been surprised. She sat outside and did something with cards while the village women tittered around nervously. Madame had told Cosette to stay inside and brought Ponine and Zelma out to see, and some people threw her coins. Cosette had watched from the window as the woman left with a full purse and her pack of cards.
"Do you know what the cards mean, monsieur?" He snorted.
"No."
This was not a friendly person, Cosette had officially decided, but he didn't seem inclined to harm her. A nervous sort of wolf.
Cosette heard the door close quietly downstairs. She curtsied and scurried back to bed, leaping under the covers to her Papa's footsteps on the stairs.