"Eponine, who was that girl?"
That was Cosette. Eponine remembered her very clearly, the girl who took residence in the Thenardier inn, the one abandoned by her mother, the one that old man carried away.
Yes, she remembered her more clearly now, the scraggly brunette who would take to stealing her and Azelma's dolls to play with. She had that lead sword, too. She loved the dog.
The memories began to flow back and Eponine looked down at herself. She saw an emaciated body, pointed collarbones, thin arms, a girl who had wasted away. She saw young Cosette in her mind again and saw the same things; a girl hungry and dying, a girl with bruises and cuts and dried blood.
Look at the pathetic scamp now- not so pathetic. She had lovely velvet caps and fine silken dresses, a chemise that was not torn and actually shoes. Her figure was graceful and full, her hair shiny and long and clean. Her face was beautiful, cream and roses with two beacons of blue shining from underneath thick lashes.
And 'Ponine? Why, her body was fragile and dried out, her hair lamp and greasy, her face coated in grime and her dress tattered.
Who was that girl? That was Cosette, the ugly duckling who had grown to be a swan. The one who had her life graced by God and money. How could Eponine ever stand out to Marius now?
"That bourgeois two-a-penny thing?"