Thank you, every one, for giving my story a chance! Also, thanks for all the really nice reviews, in which you gloss over the fact that I switch back and forth from "Hucheloup" to "Houcheloup." In most versions, I know they call her "mere" but my particular version uses "ma'am" and "widow."

Well, here's the next chapter. I sincerely hope it measures up to all the really nice reviews you gave me!

"The Ogress" was not far from Thenardier's mind. In fact, between sitting with one ogress and lying with another, she had been the subject of his every mal-formed thought.

It is unfortunate for her that he was not thinking of her with love, nor with any positive emotion- he was thinking of her with greed, deceit and sheer duplicity.

It was obvious to Thenardier that The Ogress was "soft" for him, and this cheered him more than anything. A woman would do anything –anything!- for the object of her affections.

Thenardier could use this, and he was glad.

It was in a dank, dark room that he mused on this. A coarse, rotting chair was his only comfort; four thin, drafty walls his only protection from the clawing of the wind and the tangible hate of the slums.

It was here, in this last-resort of a room, that Thenardier slept, breathed, and (infrequently) ate immorality.

It was the perfect environment for a dirty scheme.

"Ay! Lazy beetle," Thenardier screeched, suddenly. "Get up 'ere and quick-like!" Our kindly brigand illustrated his urgency by kicking a rather large lump of rags with great force.

This sent the rag pile half an inch in the opposite direction. It stirred, and was suddenly a pile of bones and skin.

Our ragpile was a meek, shivering creature. Its eyes darted about the room fearfully, as if looking for aide from the other, substantially larger ragpiles. Said bigger ragpiles had pushed the littlest one so far from the fireplace, it was a miracle in itself that it did not freeze half to death.

It managed to muster a fearful whisper, "Yes, father, sir, what is it, sir?"

"Don't give me none o' that, you stupid slut," Thenardier hissed at it. From this eloquent, fatherly phrase, we can only assume our ragpile was female. "Now you gonna 'elp me out in my newest pinch and iff'n I get any of your lip-" Here he raised his hand in a threatening gesture.

Seeing the fist, our creature gave a particularly large shiver. She seemed capable of no lip.

Thenardier continued, roughly. "This afternoon you and I'll go down to this "Café Musain" and see iff'n we can get you a job there servin' drinks an' the like. The wretched ol' hag looks as if she can at least use a kitchen girl."

"An' if I c-cain't get meself a job, sir? Then what?" The words came out half-muttered and weak, but she looked surprised at her own temerity.

"We'll sell you, if we have to. But ye'll get a job. Lessen you bungle the game o' course!" His rough talking had turned into harsh yelling, and the girl was visibly distraught.

She sprang back in terror, fearful of the fist she knew was fast approaching. In doing so, she hit the worm-eaten table, pushing all the meager things upon it to the floor.

"Cor!" screeched the largest pile of rags. "What in the bloomin' world is goin' on 'ere?"

"Azelma going to work in a café, and I dare say if I can't get us a real 'ouse with the money that this will bring in!" Thenardier seemed almost happy now, which put the withering waif of an Azelma at obvious peace.

Mme. Thief, on the other hand, seemed foaming, as if a million questions and cusses danced about in her head waiting to be released.

Finally she gathered herself, and spat, "A real 'ouse? Hah! Servant girls make a franc a week if they're lucky!"

"You don't understand, woman!" The villain roared, "There's a little group of characters what sneaks around meetin' in the back room. I figure if they's hiding, it must be sumthin' unlawful-like. Sumthin' I kin blackmail 'em for. And Azelma 'ere's gonna spy on them and find out exactly what. Course I'll be in every other day 'er so to make sure the idiot doesn't botch the job!"

The villainess seemed just as angry as her male counterpart, and in reply, she yelled "Spy or not, no daughter of mine is gonna be workin' as a servant girl in a dingy little hole-in-the-wall!"

"Woman!" bellowed Thenardier. "Your daughters are drunkards and whores! Servants are their betters! And besides," here he mellowed down a bit, "'Tis only Azelma!"

The woman looked sadly torn, for a moment, gazing woefully at the skeleton that was Azelma. Finally she nodded and burrowed herself back under her covers.

Thenardier was pleased. Very pleased.

This was why he hadn't chosen Éponine.

Thanks for reading! I took a little bit of artistic license when it came to Mme. Thenardier. I know she loves her daughters quite a bit, but she just seems like the kind of woman to play favorites, even if they are slight favorites.

And I apologize for the Bill Sikes-esque Thenardier.

Anyway, if you want, you can drop me a review, and (if you celebrate it) have a fun Halloween! I myself will try, although I will be running around in my ruffled, sleeveless Purple Monstrosity, which is an 80's prom gown (2 dollars at Goodwill!) modified severely in order to make it appear Christine Daae-ish. Too bad it's like, 40 degress (F) right now. Maybe it'll warm up by evening? Darn you, Upper Midwest! Why can't you be more like the Deep South

Anyway, next chapter should be up soon, and thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially those of you who put this on C2 lists and favorites lists: AmZ, Kang Xiu and Elyse3. I think that's it. If I missed you, I apologize profusely!!!