Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except the five-franc piece. Also
remember: flames will be used to light fireworks out at my parents' lake
house on the Fourth of July.
The boy stood there. A dirty brown beret was pulled down low over his face, a long, rather ragged overcoat covered his body. "I have a letter, m'sieur," he said, quietly. "For your daughter, Cosette. From a boy at the barricades." His eyes lit up for a moment when he said "boy," and then were filled with a sudden sadness. The child seemed familiar, as if he knew the boy from long ago.
"Give the letter to me, child." He spoke quietly, as not to scare the boy, who acted somewhat jumpy.
"'E said to give it to Cosette, m'sieur." The old man smiled slightly. The little gamin was persistent. But then, most were.
A lock of hair fell out of the beret. The boy was a girl. His smile widened, as she hadn't noticed. "You have my word, child, that my daughter will get this letter." He dug in his pocket and handed him a five-franc piece. "Here. This is for your pains."
"You're certain she'll get it?" the girl queried, almost as if she wished Cosette wouldn't get it, but also hopeful that she would.
"I will make sure, child." The girl bowed to him, and then turned and ran off. She was so familiar. A thought came quickly to his head. The girl from Montfermil. Eponine, wasn't it? No, it couldn't be. But then he thought about it. "Thénardier was here," he muttered. "So obviously his family is, too. The poor child". Eponine was still in view, running to the barricades, where the boy she so obviously loved was. Jean Valjean turned, and looked at the letter. Then he opened it.
The boy stood there. A dirty brown beret was pulled down low over his face, a long, rather ragged overcoat covered his body. "I have a letter, m'sieur," he said, quietly. "For your daughter, Cosette. From a boy at the barricades." His eyes lit up for a moment when he said "boy," and then were filled with a sudden sadness. The child seemed familiar, as if he knew the boy from long ago.
"Give the letter to me, child." He spoke quietly, as not to scare the boy, who acted somewhat jumpy.
"'E said to give it to Cosette, m'sieur." The old man smiled slightly. The little gamin was persistent. But then, most were.
A lock of hair fell out of the beret. The boy was a girl. His smile widened, as she hadn't noticed. "You have my word, child, that my daughter will get this letter." He dug in his pocket and handed him a five-franc piece. "Here. This is for your pains."
"You're certain she'll get it?" the girl queried, almost as if she wished Cosette wouldn't get it, but also hopeful that she would.
"I will make sure, child." The girl bowed to him, and then turned and ran off. She was so familiar. A thought came quickly to his head. The girl from Montfermil. Eponine, wasn't it? No, it couldn't be. But then he thought about it. "Thénardier was here," he muttered. "So obviously his family is, too. The poor child". Eponine was still in view, running to the barricades, where the boy she so obviously loved was. Jean Valjean turned, and looked at the letter. Then he opened it.