The shop door clicked behind him as Thenardier made his majestic entrance.
Or it would have been majestic, if Thenardier had the grace of a swan. Or even of a duck.
But of course, he didn't; that was why he emerged from the florist's seconds later with a bundle of slightly damaged roses.
Ah, well. They had cost more than he had been intending to spend, but then again perhaps roses would serve his purpose better.
Yes, Thenardier thought. They'd do, nicely.
Azelma, meanwhile, ran her hand over the streaky glass.
"Papa…" she murmured, as if trying to will him there. "Papa…"
It had been going on three hours that she had been there. Three lonesome, bitter hours; cup after cup of coffee. The waitress, the unfortunate looking one, kept bringing it to Azelma, and she dared not leave the cup full for fear of hurting her feelings.
Azelma felt strange. Very strange- what was in this coffee that they were giving her? She had long ago lost the ability to sit still, and now she was…dancing?
Yes, Azelma was dancing! She was jumping up and down, she was moving her feet; she was dancing!
Such a strange effect this drink had on her! Azelma did not dance, even in private, and here she was in public shuffling for all to see.
A man with shining brown curls was walking down the road just then. Azelma found it hard to imagine that a man with such hair could walk so humbly.
The man's raggedy, mismatched ugly clothing made him very easily distinguishable from the crowds of the street.
Oh! How stupid she had been. It was probably Montparnasse, wearing his "working clothes" and fresh from a hairdresser, sent by her father to come check up on her.
She tried to stop the "dancing" but it was to no avail. The more anxious she got about Montparnasse's approach, the faster her feet moved.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks from fear by the time the curls reached the doorway. Montparnasse would think her foolish for dancing. Montparnasse would hit her for giddiness. Montparnasse would-
"Miss?" Oh! The curls were talking to her, with a smooth voice, unblemished by drink.
This wasn't Montparnasse.
Azelma, fidgety as she felt, could only bring her eyes to the floor in reply.
"Miss?" he said again, softly. He was almost as meek as she was! This though made her laugh. Almost.
This time Azelma knew she had to answer. "Yes, sir?"
"Are you all right? Do you need something?"
Azelma found this question both the kindest thing she had ever heard, but also the most troubling. Why was he taking such an interest in her? Could he tell she was out of place? Oh! In such a queer house, who knew what could happen to her? She was foolish for talking to him in the first place.
"No, sir," she said, blushing. "I'm fine, sir. Just waiting for me papa, sir."
The young mismatched man regarded her curiously for a moment, and walked away, soundlessly.
Azelma stared after him, long after he had shuffled away into the private room.
Azelma knew she needed to think. And her favorite place to think was out-of-doors.
The door shut behind her. Everyone who heard it would only think some customer had left after noticing the rats.
The Ogress stood at the head of the stairs, watching the scene taking place in her front room.
Josephine was talking to another man! And alone! And she was engaged! How positively…tramp-ish!
"Like mother, like daughter," whispered the Ogress, ruefully. "Of course. She ain't been here two weeks, and already she's soaked up my new whorish ways!"
Oh, she never should have looked at the pretty boy in the revolutionaries' room! See what it had done to her Josephine!
Talking to men! Alone!
The Reptile, looking to leave, appeared at the head of the staircase beside the Ogress.
"Lookit that girl, Olivier," breathed the Ogress to the reptile. "She was talking to another man! And quite the stylish one!"
The Reptile's face turned purple in seconds. His fists clenched, and his veins began to pop out.
"But ma'am," he snarled, as though he wished to squash his anger, but couldn't. "Josephine is mine. I own her."
"Not yet, you don't," said the Ogress annoyed. "She's mine, till you're married."
"She's mine, woman!" bellowed the Reptile.
"She's yours, sir, she's yours…"