She was not like other girls, that was for certain. Marius had known this ever since he first laid eyes upon her.

First of all, she did not walk like other girls. Instead of the dainty step which most young women took-even those of her class-she had more the gait of a man: each step heavy, deliberate. Not ungraceful; in fact, it had a grace all its own, though not delicate.

Secondly was the way she acted. She did not play with men. She was always very direct, very frank, sometimes painfully frank. And although she seemed to enjoy the company of other girls, she always seemed to seek out the men. Not in the typical, "gesture and they come" way, but more as friends. Furthermore, when any male seemed to show any interest in her, she would shrug them off before they themselves even knew it.

All this intrigued him. One day, as he had followed Enjolras around in St. Michel, bending down to speak to those who sat, spreading the words of Lamarque, he had watched her. Furtively, he would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, while she would walk around the ramshackle houses, visiting friends. It almost seemed as if she was circling him. Once their eyes met, and her gaze bore holes through him. She knew he was watching.

Quickly, he looked away, and busied himself with the books tucked under his arm. A moment later however, he slowed, and took one last look at the girl-her eyes were still fixed on him. Without a word, he straightened, and headed off for another section of the slums. She did not follow. He was slightly disappointed.

Four days later, he found himself once again in St. Michel, alone this time. Enjolras had wanted him to carry out his tasks without assistance. And once again, she was there.

He tried to ignore her. Even though she was successfully ignoring him, it was not working. Finally, screwing up his courage, he finished conversing with an elderly old man who was sitting beneath a laundry line, and approached her. He could not quite place what drew him to her. He knew only that his feet were swiftly taking him closer and closer to where she stood. Ten feet away from her, she suddenly looked up at him, and he halted, unsure as to what he could say.

"Bonjour, miss," he said hurriedly, extracting a pamphlet from under his arm and halfheartedly offering it to her. "Have you a moment to discuss-"

"I like your hair," she interrupted flatly.

This caught Marius off his feet for a moment. "You-what?"

The girl smiled gently. "I like your hair," she repeated, coming nearer to him. "How you comb it. It becomes you."

Marius did not know what you say, other than, "I...well-thank you." It came as more of a question than a response.

Crossing her arms, the girl kicked a pebble away. She wore only a single, thin skirt, over a soiled chemise, which was cinched around her waist by a thick leather belt with a tarnished buckle. Thrown over her shoulders was a frayed, netted shawl. She wore no shoes. Her long, brown hair tumbled in knots about her face-which, underneath the dirt and grime, he could tell was quite handsome. Pretty, even, under different circumstances.

"I've seen you before," she told him, swinging her foot. "Handing out those papers." Without warning, she snatched the one he had been offering her a moment before, and scanned it. "You think this will help us?"

Carefully, he extracted the paper from her grasp, smiling. "Perhaps," he said. "I believe actions start with words."

"Really?" she said, tilting her head in a curious way. "I believe actions start with actions-there's no point in announcing what you're about to do if you never do it."

"And what makes you think we won't do what we say?" Marius said, a bit defensive.

The girl shrugged. "You want to help the poor?" she said. "So has everyone else. And where has it got us?" She took her filthy skirt in her hands and fanned it out to make her point.

"This time will be different."

"How so?"

"We will fight."

"Fight what? Poverty?"

"In ways."

"You cannot shoot poverty, monsieur Marius," she said with a smirk. With that, she turned away, flourishing her skirt, and began to walk away from him. "Though I would help you try." Marius started to follow her, but suddenly she bolted, and darted down an alleyway, out of sight.

Marius did not even have the presence of mind to shout to her how she knew his name.