Later that night, Cosette found Grantaire sitting on the floor in the centre of the parlour cradling his head in his hands, moaning and whimpering to himself.

"Why are you still on the floor?" Cosette demanded.

"Go away," Grantaire grumbled.

"Don't sit on the floor." She walked over to him and began pulling on his limbs. "No one belongs on the floor," she chided.

"Go awaaaaay! Bloody Hell!"

Cosette screwed up her delicate features in response to Grantaire's most offensive curse, but she had completely committed herself to his cause, and refused to let his occasional courseness deter her. "Why are you holding your head?"

"Because I'm sober!" Grantaire snapped. "And I don't like it. And your father caught me drinking cooking sherry. And I drank six pots of coffee to make myself think I was getting drunk. And now I'm shaking and it feels like there's a bloody legion marching around in my head…and I'm sober!"

Cosette blinked. "So am I," she finally answered. For some reason, that response really bothered her strange houseguest. He choked back a sob. Cosette felt upset. "Do you want anything?" she asked him.

"I just want to be left alone," came the muffled reply.

Cosette sighed, but did as Grantaire asked. The entire episode made Cosette think about Grantaire's progress-or lack thereof-thus far. She decided to consult her father. She ran outside to his shed.

"Papa!" she called.

Her father emerged a moment later. "What is it, Cosette? Is there something wrong?" Jean Valjean asked, concerned.

Cosette grasped her father's hands, and said tearfully, "Oh Papa! It's Grantaire! He's so miserable I can hardly stand it!"

Jean Valjean sighed. "I can understand your concern, Cosette. I, too, have been worried about him. In spite of all of our love, he remains bitter and short tempered. It seems that he'd been treated so poorly for so long that his natural response to anything is sarcasm and sinful drunkenness, even in the face of out kindness."

"It's terrible, Papa. To think that he has been so mistreated. No one deserves that." She paused, thinking on something. "But Papa," she continued. "What can we do to help him?"

Cosette's father smiled and lay his hand on her arm. "Only what we have been doing, Cosette. Love is the answer."

Cosette looked into her father's eyes, smiled, then kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Papa," he purred, and skipped back the way she came.

When Grantaire woke up the next morning, he head was already pounding. Grunting and muttering to himself, he quickly dressed and ambled downstairs to the kitchen. There was no one there. Grantaire was confused. In the week he had terrorized the Fauchelevant household, every morning had been the same: he would go downstairs, find Cosette and her father happily chattering, say something that offended the girl in some way, apologize to her at her father's behest, then eat the rest of breakfast in near silence. Somehow he had skipped to the last step, except there was no girl, no father, and no breakfast. However, a copy of Gulliver's Travels lay carelessly on the table. For lack of anything better to do, Grantaire picked up the book, lounged sideways in the chair at the head of the table and began to read.

Several hours later, Grantaire was disturbed by two voices singing loudly together, a tenor and a light soprano. Presently, Cosette and her father appeared in the doorway. Both of them had their arms full of boxes. Cosette let hers fall unceremoniously to the floor, hollering, "Good afternoon, Grantaire!"

Grantaire muttered something.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, I'm reading, Cosette!"

"Oooh, good! What are you reading?"

Grantaire absently showed her the cover.

"That's one of my favourites, too!" Cosette declared. "But look." She picked up one of the larger boxes off the floor and held it out to Grantaire. "Papa and I went shopping today."

Curious, Grantaire took the package and ripped it open. Inside was a brand new pair of black Wellington boots. The man was speechless.

"Go on!" Cosette urged. "There's more!"

Grantaire opened box after box, finding undershirts, waistcoats, cravats, two new coats, several pairs of trousers, a plain overcoat, and a top hat, all chosen especially for him by Cosette. When he had finished, three stacks of brand new clothes had materialized in front of him. Grantaire was completely in awe of the Fauchelevants' generosity.

"I don't know what to say," Grantaire sheepishly admitted. "This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. How can I ever repay you?"

"Your thanks is enough payment for us," Jean Valjean answered.

"We just wanted to show you our love, right Papa?" Cosette chirped.

"Yes, my child," her father answered.

Cosette looked proud of herself.

"However," Jean Valjean continued. "We both would be very grateful if you tried to be a little more agreeable in response to our efforts to educate you." The man smiled. "We can all benefit from that. And perhaps you can even win back your friends…and Enjolras."

Grantaire's eyes took on a far away look upon hearing Enjolras' name. But, as usual, Cosette's shrill voice broke into his reverie.

"Grantaire!"

"Hmmm?"

Cosette turned to her father. "Papa, he didn't swear at me! I suppose that's a start, don't you?"

Chuckling, her replied, "Of course I do, Cosette!"