The chance of meeting Marius on the stairs was almost enough to make leaving the house worthwhile. It began with polite nods and greetings before they each went on their way, but eventually they would stay so long on the stairs chatting that the landlady would decide to sweep the foyer, clearing her throat every now and then, and when that still failed to get rid of them she would begin to sweep the stairs, stopping as soon as one or the other of them left.

Nevertheless, the long days trudging around in the bitter cold took their toll on Eponine. She always caught cold as soon as the weather turned, which was no wonder, when all she had to wear for going out was a threadbare old coat and a pair of boots that let the snow in through their cracked soles. But this winter a painful cough had settled in her chest, and try as she might (though there was little she could do), she could not manage to shake it.

She had finally reached the Gorbeau House after a day full of errands. The wind seemed to cut right through her, threatening to knock her off her feet. She struggled to get the door open; once she did, she hurried inside and slammed it shut behind her. She leaned against the closed door, doubled over in a fit of coughing. The narrow staircase looked steeper than ever when she looked up at it. She was hardly halfway up when she had to stop and catch her breath.

"'Ponine?"

Eponine lifted her head. "Hello, Monsieur Marius," she rasped. She wished she could disappear.

"What's the matter?" Marius asked.

"It's––nothing––" Eponine said, in between coughs. "Don't you––fret––about me––"

Marius laid his hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

Eponine looked up at him for a moment. She tried to answer, but when she opened her mouth to speak another coughing fit seized her, harder than the last. She felt herself falling forward, reached for the bannister, and instead she collapsed into Marius's arms. He was saying something to her; she could not understand the words. She had a vague impression of being picked up and carried…somewhere…and that was all she knew.

She woke to the touch of something cool and wet on her forehead. She had not thought she would welcome anything cold just now, but this felt wonderful. It was then she realized that she was no longer shivering. She was lying on something soft and warm––a bed, she realized, a real bed, and not the straw pallet she slept on at home. The room was dimly lit. It seemed small, but a little warmer and neater than her family's apartment. She tried to ask where she was, but the only sound she could make was a slight groan.

"'Ponine? Can you hear me?" asked a voice close beside her.

She recognized that voice. "Marius?" she rasped.

"Shh, it's all right. I'm here," said Marius. "You don't have to talk, just rest now."

But Eponine was feeling more and more awake. Her eyes were growing used to the dim light, and as she looked around, she caught a glimpse of something at the foot of the bed: a glass, in which she could just see the flicker of a candle and the back of Marius's curly head. "You––you brought me––to your place?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't look as though you could stand much longer, and the stairs aren't a very comfortable place to lie down." He leant over her, adjusting the damp cloth on her forehead. "How long have you been sick?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Eponine. "I don't remember the last time I felt good…but it's gotten worse…"

"You've had that cough for a while now," said Marius. "Have you seen a doctor about that?"

Eponine shook her head. "What's it to you?" she asked. "Why should you care?"

Marius looked away for a moment, and Eponine worried she had offended him. She did not want to seem ungrateful for his taking care of her, it was just that she was not used to having someone look after her. But then, to her surprise, he took her hand. "I love you, Eponine," he said.

"What?"

"I love you."

Eponine sat up, drawing the bedclothes up around herself. "Please, stop," she said, tears beginning to choke her voice. "This isn't funny."

"It isn't a joke, 'Ponine," said Marius. "I have never been more serious in my life. I love you. I have for some time now. I've been trying to think how to tell you. This isn't quite how I had planned to do it, but I couldn't wait any longer." He reached for her hand, which she had yanked out of his grasp. "Please, may I?" he said. Eponine let him take her hand. He drew it to his lips and kissed it.

"Why me?" Eponine asked. "Why would you ever love someone like me?"

Marius smiled, and shook his head as if at a loss for words. "You…are…unlike anyone I've ever known," he said at last. "In––in a good way––in many ways. You're the first girl I could ever talk to––as a friend, I mean. You've had to grow up fast, I think, but there's a part of you that's still a child. You have reason enough to be miserable, but you choose to be hopeful, and that is so––beautiful. You are beautiful."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Marius gave her his handkerchief to dry the tears that filled her eyes. "You may not be able to see it, but believe me, my dear, you are."

"What––what did you call me?"

"My dear?"

"No––no one's––ever––called––me––"

"You don't mind, do you?"

Eponine shook her head, unable to speak. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She held fast to Marius's hand, as if she were afraid this all might prove a dream, and needed to hold onto something real. Marius clasped her hand in both of his. He could have taken her in his arms and kissed her right then and there, but he feared such unaccustomed displays of affection might overwhelm her just then. She coughed, bringing him back to his senses. "I'm sorry," he said, "perhaps I should have waited till you were better."

"No––no, I––" Eponine broke off, coughing hard. Marius ventured to put his arm around her and rub her back until the fit subsided.

"Come, I think we've had enough excitement for now," he said. "Wish I could make you well just by saying how much I love you, but as I can't, I ought to let you rest. You can stay here as long as you need to."

"But this is your––" Eponine began to protest.

"Don't worry about that," said Marius. "I'll be quite comfortable at my desk––truly––and I shan't bother you. At least, I'll try not to. Would you like me to go away?"

"No!" cried Eponine, grabbing at his sleeve. "Please––please stay with me."

"As you wish, my dear," said Marius. He drew his chair closer to the headboard of the bed and laid his hand on Eponine's head, softly stroking her hair. Eponine sighed contentedly, and snuggled down beneath the covers. She kept her eyes open as long as she could, hardly daring to believe it was true. He loved her. Marius Pontmercy––Monsieur Marius––her Marius––loved her.