Jealous
"Finally, they're asleep," the low growl of a woman sounded through the rickety house. The Thenardieress went up and down the passage as if checking on the patrons of the inn.
She stopped by one half-open door, behind which a mother and her child slept peacefully. The Thenardieress could not resist peering in to see if there was anything of value that the mother had in her carpetbag.
The huge woman quietly stepped into the room and reached for the bag slung over by the bed. She noticed how the golden-haired young woman asleep in the bed cradled her dark-haired daughter close to her. The Thenardieress shook her head as she began to rummage through the contents of the bag.
Still asleep, Fantine tossed and turned as if she was dreaming. The Thenardieress paid no attention to the girl's whispers till one name, soft as a lover's whisper, spilled from those fair lips: Felix.
The Thenardieress dropped the bag and stared at Fantine. Hands shaking, she hurriedly repacked the carpetbag and returned it to its place by the bed. She stood by the bedstead for a few moments, observing how little Cosette's dark hair seemed to mingle in sharp counterpoint with Fantine's flaxen tresses. With a heavy step, she turned to leave.
As the Thenardieress stole out of the room, she found it harder to breathe as she thought back on her own memories of Paris, and a jovial man who once had dark hair before it began to fall out. A lifetime more than four years before, before this husband and this inn, before Fantine.
The Thenardieress sighed as she entered her own room and cast one last look towards the vision she was coming to hate more and more. "I'd know that dark hair anywhere. So it was you he left for."