Thank you all for the reviews! Actually, AmZ, I thought of the exact same thing last night. You're right. I just hope everyone will look over the error- I just hope it's not too glaring.

Cosette's skirts swayed as she hugged herself. She could see Valjean in the upstairs window. It was a thrill to be on the outside looking in!

"Oh, I'm sure Papa is very proud," Cosette exclaimed. "Look at his Cosette- no longer a little girl!"

Cosette paused her celebration for a moment as she wondered which course to take. To her left the Rue de Babylone lead to an upper-class quarter, with all it's opulence. Cosette was decently certain that this was the "right" part of town. To her right, The Rue De Babylone wound about in seemingly random directions, slowly becoming more and more disheveled until it became one and the same with the "wrong" part of town. Cosette had gone to the left many, many times, but she had never been to the right. She'd never been allowed.

"Well, Ursula," the girl yelled, thinking herself alone on the street. "Watch out for Cosette!"

Much to the chagrin of Valjean in the window, Cosette took the greater of the two evils, turning to the right and proceeding on her way. She felt as if she was ready to take on anything- anything at all! Be it rain, be it thunder, be it-

"Care for a ride, Cosette?" The voice was rough, but not harsh.

Cosette immediately burst into tears. "How did you know my name?" She sobbed, reaching for her lace handkerchief.

"You were yelling and raising all sorts of Hell," chuckled the man.

Cosette, shocked at the curse, dried her tears and looked up at the mysterious voice to find out that he was a very shabby man in an equally shabby carriage. At one time, the carriage he rode in may have been the height of grandeur. The body, once a beautiful, shiny black, was reduced to a chipping grey mass of holes and cracks. Cosette, in her mind, likened it to a shadow. It was a mere echo of it's former splendor.

The horse attached to it had never been the height of anything. He was a minute thing, though old, and stubborn. Cosette immediately noticed his overall lack of fur and horrible smell. The man himself shared many qualities with his horse, among them his shabbiness. It seemed that everything this man touched immediately turned to tatters.

He extended his moth bitten glove to Cosette, who was still gawking at the horse.

"Don't mind him," said the man. "Billy don't bite."

"Billy?" asked Cosette. "That's not a real name!" She was becoming increasingly angry at this mysterious man. He scared her, and now he was trying to trick her!

"Is too," said the man, as though talking to an unruly child. "If you're in England, it is."

"England!' exclaimed Cosette. She adored the England described in her books, and the mere mention of something she loved so dearly made her feel much more at ease with the man. "Have you been? I've heard about Englishmen in books. They are kind and gentle men who treat their ladies with the utmost respect, and they are so very, very smart. Is that true? Whenever I try to talk about England to Papa, he always changes the subject to France-" She would have prattled on, but the man leaned close to her and laid two fingers on her lips.

"Shhh, my darling," whispered he, "Take a breath."

Cosette inhaled and exhaled very loudly.

"I've been to England many times," he whispered, in the same soothing way. "I'm English."

"English!" Cosette began, but once again she was shushed.

"Oh yes, Cosette," he continued. "I'm related to the king, you know. Why, he's my cousin!" The man had neglected to mention that he in fact was related to only crooks and brigands. He had also negleted to mention how his only cousin was a prostitute and that it was he who got her the job.

"Oh..." sighed Cosette. Though in reverie, her eyes wandered over to the letter writer across the street.

"Drat!" she screeched, destroying the moment. "I have a letter to deliver, and unless you know an Ursula, I must bid you good-bye."

"Ursula who?" he asked.

"'Ursula F.' is all it says," Cosette answered. "Do you know where I might find Ursula F.?"

"Oh yes, I know her," murmured the Englishman, thinking on his feet. "She lives across town."

"Ah, all right..." Cosette hadn't the slightest idea what to do next. It would be rude to ask the Englishman to give her a ride, but to truge across the city... "I'll...just be on my way, then, M'sieur." Cosette's tone was uncertain- where on Earth was "across town"? It was as cryptic as the letter.

"Climb inside, Mademoiselle," laughed the Englishman. "You don't think I would just leave you standing there? I am offended, Cosette!"

Cosette stood still for a moment. A million thoughts fought in her mind. Should she go? Shouldn't she go? What would Papa do?

Papa says always give aid if you can, Cosette thought to herself. And this man appears to be terribly lonely...

"You'd be doing me a service, mademoiselle," He said, as if he had read Cosette's thoughts. "Won't you help a fellow...a fellow in love?"

In love? With me? Oh my! He had fulfilled Cosette's every fantasy with those few words.

Once more, he extended his hand to help her into the carriage. This time, she grasped it with a sigh.

"Thank you very much, Monsieur... Monsieur...oh, what is your name?" She only realized now that she hadn't gotten it.

"Just call me Walt."

As they sped down the winding Rue de Babylone, Cosette attempted to impress him with her few words of English. She was decently sure that they meant that the weather was nice.

"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, pointing to the clear blue sky. "It looks like rain."

Flame if you want. To misquote Eliza Doolittle, I've never recieved a flame, not what you'd call a proper one!