Coin
The man's smile is gentle enough to crack something old and hard in Eponine, though he certainly isn't anything special to look at. He drops a clatter of coins into the hat beside her. "That's for a warm bed you haven't got to share tonight." he tells her, as if he knows what it is to sell an embrace.
She does not say thank you, she never does, but his speech pulls up old words. "Your name, Monsieur? So that I may pray for you?"
"It's Grantaire." he says, "But save your prayers for yourself."
She will see him again.
