Valjean had resolved to slip away from the celebration quietly after an appropriate period. The bride and groom were too preoccupied with their guests to observe his exit, and the guests had paid little mind to the bride's reclusive father anyway.

Yet before he could escape entirely unnoticed, one of the wedding guests spoke to him. An unassuming man who wore round spectacles offered him polite congratulations on his daughter's marriage, his accent betraying him as a foreigner.

"Thank you," Valjean answered with equal politeness. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…"

"Kent."

"Ah yes, Monsieur Kent. The American." Cosette had mentioned some distant American cousins of M. Gillenormand who would be at the wedding. She had been so happy in those weeks of preparations leading up to her marriage. She was so happy now. Valjean felt the need to extract himself from the scene growing more pressing.

"You are kind, Monsieur," Kent was saying. "Most people have called me 'the farmer'."

"There are much worse things to be than a farmer," Valjean replied. "Though I am sure many here do not think so. Still, I am surprised they would say that so you could hear."

Kent smiled in a way that hinted at some secret, though Valjean knew not what it could be. "Very few people realize how good my hearing is," he said evenly, glancing around the room at the other guests. "But my wife is the one who is from the groom's family. I am something of an outsider here." He fixed his gaze once more on Valjean, who suddenly had the impression that the younger man could see straight through him. "What surprises me is that the father of the bride should be an outcast at his own daughter's wedding."

Perhaps it was that Kent was, as he had said, an outsider, and therefore a kindred spirit in a way he could hardly know. Perhaps it was that piercing gaze, which gave the sense that deceit would be futile. But Valjean found himself telling the truth.

"She is not my daughter," he admitted sadly. It was the first time he had said it out loud. Across the room, he saw Cosette laugh at something another woman had said. His heart lurched painfully. "I raised her, but she was never mine. Now, she does not need me anymore."

Kent was silent for a moment. "I do not think," he said at last, "that she would see it that way."

Valjean shook his head. "She does not know."

"I did," Kent said. Puzzled by this response, Valjean tore his eyes from Cosette. Kent had a resolve set in his features that seemed at odds with his previously easy-going manner. He even seemed to have grown taller.

"My parents took me in when I was an orphan," he clarified. "I knew. It did not matter to me. They were my family. If you have been a loving father to your daughter, then I am sure she feels the same way."

On the other side of the room, Cosette seemed to have lost interest in the conversation of the women around her. Her eyes began to wander, not quite looking for something.

"There are other things she does not know," Valjean said carefully. "And there are reasons why I must distance myself from her, to protect her. It is what is best for her."

That smile again. Valjean was growing increasingly certain that there was more to this man than it would appear, and he was not at all comfortable with it. He had grown accustomed to being the one with something to hide, and did not like the roles being reversed.

"Whatever your secrets are, Monsieur," said Kent, easily refocusing that piercing gaze to where Mlle. Gillenormand was speaking with another of the guests, "If you confide in her, you might find that she has her own ideas about what is best for her."

The dark-haired woman speaking with Mlle. Gillenormand seemed to know Kent was looking at her, for she turned briefly and smiled in his direction. Vaguely, Valjean realized that this was the distant Gillenormand cousin who was Kent's wife.

Any question that Valjean might have posed about what experience Kent was clearly speaking from was abandoned when he felt a delicate hand on his arm. Cosette had left her guests behind and sought him out.

"There you are, Papa," she chided gently. "If you are going to insist on speaking with our American guest all evening, you must at least introduce me." Her eyes were sparkling as she slipped her arm in his.

Kent had resumed his unassuming posture while neither of them had been looking. "Unfortunately, Madame, I believe your father was just complaining of not feeling well?" It took a moment for Valjean to realize that Kent was giving him a way out, if he still wanted to leave.

Cosette looked at him with concern. "What's wrong, Papa?"

Papa. What right did he have to that name? But then, what right did he have to forbid Cosette from using it? She did not need him to provide for her anymore. Her husband would do that now. But...was there something else she still needed from him?

"Papa?" she asked again, her brows drawing together. Whether she needed him or not, Valjean knew then that she wanted him to stay.

"It's nothing, my child," he answered at last. "It was just a passing pain. I am alright now." At his reassurance, Cosette's face lit up once more, and to his surprise all of the heaviness which had been building in his heart began to dissipate.

As he made the introductions, Kent was smiling again.