Saint-Michel, Paris, June 1828
Michel Montparnasse was no saint. He was named for the neighborhood in which he was born, in the poorest outskirts of Paris. At fifteen, he was an orphan with no hope for a bright future ahead of him. His innate love for beauty seemed like a curse. Or perhaps he only loved beauty because it was a way for him to control all the squalor around him. He thought that if he could just make one corner of the world beautiful, just his own tiny corner, then none of the rest of it would matter. As long as he was beautiful.
The first friend he ever made was his boss's oldest daughter. He always thought of her as like a little sister, but she saw him differently. Her name was, as she told him, Éponine Thé- Jondrette. He then introduced himself to her.
"Where do you folks come from, Éponine Thé- Jondrette?" he asked her teasingly.
"I'm sorry, I'm really not supposed to say," said Éponine hesitantly, backing away from him.
"Aw c'mon, you can tell me. Your pa and I are tight like this." He locked his hands together. "You can trust me."
"That's just the thing," Éponine replied. "He says we can't trust anyone around here."
"You're going to have to learn to trust someone sometime, 'Ponine," he told her smoothly. "Why not me?"
Éponine couldn't resist a handsome face. "All right," she told him. "We're from Montfermeil. We used to own an inn there, but- " she cut herself off just in time.
"But what? Were the cops after you? Is that why you changed your name?"
"No, it's not that, it's just... " Éponine's voice trailed off. She knew that if she told her new friend that her father had lost the inn to gambling debts, that Montparnasse would never agree to let him participate in the gang's activities. And if they lost that, oh, how savagely he would beat her! and they would be back on the streets.
"You know, Michel, you are very handsome," Éponine said, looking up at him when she was at a loss for words.
Montparnasse blushed bright red. Handsome? Of course he wasn't handsome. How could any street rat like him be considered handsome? He was the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low. He was far too skinny, with a tanned face and yellow teeth, and had dirt caked all over his body. Suddenly he felt a rush of pity for this Éponine girl, who was quite possibly the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She didn't know what she was in for, that her puberty would be stolen from her, that the best years of her life were already behind her, that in a few months she would look just as pathetic as he did right now. And he couldn't exactly tell her all that.
But stronger than the rush of pity was the force of a self-satisfied grin creeping up over his face. A girl had called him handsome. Very handsome. And at least for the moment, she was not bad looking herself, either. And if one good-looking girl thought him handsome, then surely other girls did too. Surely every girl he passed, even if she didn't say it aloud, felt inside that he was very handsome and that she wanted to know him carnally.
"Why, thank you, 'Ponine," said Montparnasse. He reached up to his head and pretended to doff his hat to her even though he had none.
"A little modesty might suit you better, monsieur," Éponine teased him, standing on her tiptoes to see him at eye level.
Montparnasse grinned. "I think I prefer compliment-fishing, thank you very much."
"Suit yourself." Éponine shrugged. "I have to be off now. Pa's waiting." With that, she ran back to the Gorbeau tenement, unaware of the monster she had just created and unleashed upon the city of Paris.