The boy was crouched in the yard, his hands cupped around something that Éponine and Azelma were desperately trying to see. The older girl was grinning and chattering about some game she wanted to play while the younger dared to pry at the boy's hands; neither of them was making any progress. The boy had set his pretty little lips in a tight line and was staring straight ahead as though the girls were invisible, but when he saw Cosette he got to his feet, shaking Azelma off, and called after her.
"Serving-girl!"
Behind him, Éponine's sharp eyes travelled from the boy's back to Cosette, narrowing as she slowly realised that the boy was leaving her company for the ragged servant's. Seizing Azelma's wrist, she pulled her sister to her feet and grumbled, "I don't know what's so special about that stupid old Lark anyways. She's ugly and she doesn't know her letters, and she messes up all the time." With that, she dragged the smaller girl back to the tavern, shooting the other two children a final contemptuous look before slamming the door.
The boy continued to ignore her, holding his cupped hands before Cosette. "Look at this," he said quietly, opening them.
A tiny bird sat on his palm, trembling, covered with greyish fuzz, large, pink lids sealed over its eyes. Cosette could not help but gasp. She looked up at the boy with enchantment shining in her eyes; his lips were curled into a little smile, and his own eyes were on Cosette. "You can pet it," he said, holding the baby bird closer.
Cosette raised a reddened hand, shaking as violently as the bird, and brushed one careful finger over the top of its head. The bird opened its beak and craned its neck upward, bobbing up and down in the boy's hands. "Where's its mother?" breathed Cosette.
"Where's yours?"
The little girl looked up from the bird, but looked away before she could meet the strange boy's eyes. "I don't know. I think she's dead. Or I haven't got one."
There was a slight rustle behind them. Cosette turned in time to see that the boy's own mother had emerged from the inn and was bent double, one hand clasping the doorframe, the other thrown across her stomach, vomiting. The little girl, morbidly fascinated by the despoilment of such a noble figure, found that she could not tear her eyes away from the ghastly scene. Weakened, the woman could not even move to pull her lovely black hair out of the mess, and remained slumped against the wall, shuddering, even after she was finished.
The baby bird squealed piercingly; Cosette looked back at the boy in time to see his emotionless expression as he surveyed his bloodstained hands and the crumpled corpse of the tiny animal. Without looking up at Cosette, he muttered, "It was an accident. You can bury it if you want," and dropped the bird on the ground, breaking into a run as he left the scene.