Chapter Nine

A/N: Thank you to IceQueenForLife and MissFiyerabaMeponineSherlock for reviewing the last chapter.

Marius could not believe what he had heard, and he certainly did not wish to do so. The life that he had built for himself over the past decade, his work and his home, and most importantly his family, was being torn apart right before his eyes. And it was entirely his fault.

The wind whistled faintly through the trees, their branches colliding together in silence, so that the only sound was the heavy breathing of the younger man, as he attempted to comprehend the situation that had been laid before him, and struggled to find the answer that he would give.

Of course, the first thought that had come to mind was to send Charbonneau away, to refuse his offer and turf him off his land. But after rationality had set in a little, he began to realise that this simply could not be done. Whether or not he liked this fact, Marielle was his daughter, by blood at least, and he had the right to see her if he wanted to. Still, the man was not happy about it, and still considered saying no, until a voice in the back of his mind asked him a question. 'What would 'Ponine want me to do?'

He was amazed that, through all this thought of Marielle and her father, his mind had not once turned to Éponine, and what she would have wanted if she were here. In the letter that she had left him, she had not made any negative mention of Charbonneau, only positive, but neither had she left any instructions for what to do if he should arrive to seek contact with his daughter. 'I suppose that she never dared to believe that he would come back.' Marius told himself sadly. 'Perhaps she thought that he didn't care, that he left her and so that he would do the same for the child. Perhaps she wasn't even sure he knew the babe was his own child.'

But, of course, she was, and remained so to that day. Marius knew Éponine well, and was aware that she never would have been as foul as share her affections willingly when they belonged to another, and so she would not have been with another when she had so clearly loved Charbonneau, or had thought that she had, at least. This meant that she would have been certain that the only possibility was that the child was his daughter. But would she have wanted him to take her away from Rue Plumet, after she was dead and gone? He truly did not know.

"Marius?" came a timid voice from the doorway, as a small chink of light came through the gap beside the wood, becoming a thick beam overshadow by a figure, as Cosette stepped through over the threshold and onto the front porch. Immediately, in the face of the stranger, she laid a hand on his arm, as much to give him comfort as to receive it. "Marie is going to bed now, and she wants to see you before she goes to sleep."

"Marie?" Clement questioned, clearly attempting to deduce the situation. Seeing this, Marius winced, as he knew the conclusion that the man had made. If his wife had known of the ins and outs of the man's identity, he expected that she would have come to this result as well. "Short for Marielle, I assume."

"Yes." Cosette answered, though she seemed a tad uncomfortable with doing so, as the man was still a stranger to her, though for some unknown reason, he seemed familiar. "Marius?"

"Cosette, go back inside and put her to bed. I will be up to speak to you in a minute. Keep her upstairs." he instructed, but when he turned, he saw that his instructions had come too little, too late, as the girl herself was descending the staircase, her gaze fixed on the doorway, and on the strange man standing in it.

As his daughter came into view, Marius heard Clement's breath hitch in his throat, and knew precisely to what this was referring. Every time he looked at the child, he saw more and more of a resemblance to her mother, to the point where she was now almost identical to the child he had met in the street selling flowers, all those years in the past. Clearly, the baker's son had made a similar connection, to the Éponine that he had briefly known a decade ago, as his eyes had softened, and a smile was slowly appearing on his features.

"Marielle?" he asked, in the same tone that one might use to enquire about the weather, but even the dark haired man was sure that he could hear the other's voice shake, that he could see a bead of sweat appear on his brow when the girl nodded her head in the affirmative. 'Perhaps he really does care after all.' mused the former revolutionary, surprised that he could even consider this of the man he had used to know. 'Perhaps with all that has changed in the world, he has finally realised that every chance is worth taking.'

He tried not to think about the fact that the chance Clement was taking away, he was taking from both Marius and his wife, who had loved and cared for the child since they were only young themselves, after tragedy had struck the whole of Paris, killing a person that they had both once called friend and evading the baker's son, who had already fled to the countryside. 'If we have loved Marielle ourselves for all of this time, then why am I even considering handing her over to this stranger?'

But it was too late. The book worker had seen Éponine's former beau open his mouth, and so had made to bundle the child back into the house, but it was too late. Charbonneau had already begun to speak and all the young brunette could do was stand before him, frozen with the shock of it all.

"Marielle, I am your papa. And I have come to take you home with me."

A/N: Please review!