Cosette's pale face looked flushed from the joy she was experiencing. The gleeful spirit she emitted had always brought a smile to Jean Valjean's face. Now, as she was tucking a little girl in her small chair properly, she looked extremely happy. Having an incredible capacity for love was something Cosette had been inspired to explore by Valjean - and as she did, he was inspired by his daughter, too. It was a blessing they both shared.
"Papa!," her voice rang softly. "Come closer, Emilie won't bite!". She was never a girl too forward and open with strangers, but as soon as something reached out to her and touched her already giving heart, she could not rest until she had helped the person in need, or done something to be useful. When her father had announced they'd be volunteering at a shelter for the poor, she was beside herself with joy. And that made Valjean happy, too. He felt that Fantine would be proud of her little one.
He chuckled at her adorable mannerisms - his grey eyes lit up and he felt young again; that was an emotion he had only found within himself after he had met Cosette. He walked up to them and smiled at Emilie.
"Are you warm now, my child?," he asked caringly.
"Yes, monsieur". The little girl looked a bit like his daughter as she did eight Christmases ago, when they'd found each other. Dirty, mousy brown hair framed a round face, still childish - a quality which could still be found in Cosette, but it was unsurprisingly fading away slowly - wide, interesting eyes and a tiny nose. There was artlessness in Emilie, as there had been and still was in Cosette. But Cosette was a young woman now; something he was struggling to accept, for to him, she'd always be that little girl he adored.
"How old are you?," he asked. Emilie seemed happy that she had made two new acquintances.
"I think I'm seven, but I don't remember". Yes, she was a lot like Cosette in her manner of speaking. "Mademoiselle?," the little one asked, just at the same time as Cosette had turned her head to look away, at a middle-aged man nearby whose facial expression declared misery and suffering.
"Yes?"
"Could you please get me some soup? I am very hungry!," she declared in a pleading manner. Cosette could not resist those loving eyes; she immidietely obeyed. As she observed little Emilie eating, she didn't realize that her father was observing her.
"How beautiful she is! What will become of me?," he thought. All he wanted was for this blessed creature to love him, nothing more or less. Her love made him content. Her love refreshed and soothed and satisfied him. And he was desperate for that girl's love. But anguish fullfilled him.
As they walked out, arms linked, he let out a heavy sigh.
"What is wrong, Papa?," she wondered. "Your expression gave you away, you know," she smiled.
"Nothing, nothing at all." After a slight pause, he asked: "What is wrong with you?"
Cosette was not aware that she seemed miserable. But she was, deep down. She adored her father, she wished to be with him, always; but loneliness often consumed her, and she was always pensive, always daydreaming. "Nothing, nothing at all."
They strolled down the wide street before they made the decision to return to the house in Rue Plumet.
"It's only a few weeks until Christmas, Papa..," she started, but not knowing how to finish her sentence. He grinned at her. They both looked up at the clear but sunless sky. "I hope it snows soon. Do you remember last year, when it snowed in February and we played in the snow?"
He recalled the memory with fondness. "I do. You had such fun!"
"I was not the only one who had fun. You seemed very happy, too! I love spending time with you, Papa."
Jean Valjean had never known love before Cosette. He had known pain, he had known anguish, he had known fear, he had known confusion, he had known injustice, he had become misery incarnate. But the feeling he'd been introduced eight Christmases ago was the strongest, most powerful of all.
He adored his daughter and she adored him; that was the way he wanted things to be. Forever.