It seems that the Nicolette I promised I'd write about was a collection of several different Nicolettes lodged together in my mind. Therefore, I give you instead Marius, age 12. Don't worry- his grammar is impeccable. However…(and this I warn you) I am not responsible for any grammatical mistakes of any other characters in this story. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks for all your wonderful reviews! Last warning: My portrayal of little Marius isn't very…good. Sorry! Also: I'm not sure if Éponine would be in Paris at this point of the story, but I thought it could be decently plausible.

From here on, thoughts are in italics.

"Dear Papa,

I went again with Grandfather to the salon yesterday. At first, that place was amazing. Such nobility were gathered there- Grandfather respects nobility very much. They seemed to me to be ghosts, witches, whatever my little mind could think of. Now, I detest going there beyond anything-"

I felt Aunt's hot breath on my neck. Nervously, I flipped the page over. If she found out I was writing Papa…

"Let's have that rubbish here, Marius." She thrust her wizened, wrinkly old hand out. I was not about to let her have the letter- I wanted it to get to my papa. Instead, I gave her a paper near it.

This, unfortunately, was a rather unflattering picture I had drawn of her, complete with sticking out teeth and crooked feet.

Aunt slapped me across the cheek. "You insolent, stupid boy!" She bellowed. "You really are your father's son!"

I looked down, wishing I could take that remark as a compliment.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I have never had any desire to meet my father: none at all. I have grown up hearing how detestable, how horrible a man he is. What makes me change my mind, then? Have I merely grown caring overnight? Not quite.

You see, last year on an unusually warm autumn day, Aunt awakened me by pushing me off the bed. As I scrambled to get up and to dress myself, she informed me that she had woken me up so I could run after the delivery boy to whom she had given an extra sou.

I stomped groggily down the stairs. "Waking me up to run after a sou…" I muttered angrily. I had been having the loveliest dream about the girl next-door…

It took me five minutes of running to find the boy Aunt had hastily described.

Stopping in front of a butcher's, I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Boy!" I called. "Come here!"

Smiling, he made his way towards me.

Immediately I reeled backwards. The boy's brown hair was moving- no! Thousands of louses were crawling about on top of his head. And the rags! They were the worst I had ever seen. Indeed, the tatters were in tatters.

"Good morning, ain't it?" The boy grinned, gaving me a quick glance. "Er…er…" he stumbled, blushing profusely. "My liege and master!" He bowed several times, and seemed to have all the intentions to kiss my show.

I was confused. Liege and master? Oh!

"I'm no royalty!" I laughed, stopping him from planting his lips on my foot. "Marius will do. What are you called?"

The boy smiled sheepishly. "I ain't got a real name. Folks call me Montparnasse 'cause that's where I live."

"Why haven't you a name?" I questioned. Surely everyone had a name!

"Well," he began. "When your father's a duke and your mum just a slip of a girl, no one much keeps you around fer long, and for certain not long enough ta name ya." He didn't seem sad telling this story, only wistful.

"So you don't know your father either?" I asked. This boy might be very much like me, I thought. I wondered if he thought his distant father wicked as well.

"Never did. I heard tell he's a good fer nothin' though. They say there's killer in his blood. Knives is his specialty."

"Killer!" I gasped. Surely a noble man wouldn't kill! To my horror and bemusement, Montparnasse laughed.

"You go all lilly-faced when I says it! Killer! Killer!"

I felt the seep from my face. "Just…continue, Montparnasse." I sighed.

"Oh yes," He began again. "Papa's a right killer, an' they say he dresses real fine. I suppose he keeps up with all the fashion plates. I suppose he can afford to!

"Does he even know he has a son?' I wondered aloud, thinking of my own father who seemed to ignore me. He never even replied to my letters.

Montparnasse's face became immediately somber.

"I goes to see him sometimes. They won't even let me in the servant's door. But someday- someday when I'm big- I'll be just like 'im. I'll have them fancy togs and…well…would you like to meet Éponine?"

"Éponine?" I asked "Who's that?"

Slowly, Montparnasse pulled a dull blade from his delivery basket. The rusty silver ed metal almost shone, but for a dark red stain. The letters "É. T." were carved shakily into the splintering wooden handle.

"I named it after me love," He smiled, fingering the red stain. "This is her blood."

I stared in horror as a proud grin spread across his grimy face. He had hurt someone and he was happy! Montparnasse smiled at girl's blood!

"I knived her good," Montparnasse laughed. "We was playing foot racing, and she was faster. She knows to lose, now."

Any notions of getting the sous back from Montparnasse completely fled my mind; any feelings of camaraderie fled my heart. I took one last "lilly-faced" look at this awful boy and ran until I was in our garden, sobbing under a tree.

It was around dusk that I realized Montparnasse could find his way onto our street again. Montparnasse and his horrible knife "Éponine." The clip-clop of a horse's hooves twisted themselves into his footsteps. Screaming with tears, I ran upstairs to my room and bolted the door.

After a while, my thoughts led me away from the knife and the boy and to fathers. Montparnasse's father was the wicked man- driving a boy to kill others, to enjoy harming others, even girls! It was his fault.

But, in my mind, a horrible thought lingered. Perhaps the lack of a father caused him to go bad. Perhaps I would turn out that way: a brigand!

I am now determined to know my father. Not one of my letters has yet been mailed, but perhaps there is hope for me yet.

A/N: This story is an example of what happens when you chew Orbit Spearmint gum (my favorite!!) every waking minute for about six months. It gets into your brain. Along with Diet Coke with Lime.

Anyone notice a recurring theme??? No, I am not obsessed with blood and knives...why do they keep showing up??? Thanks for reading, and please give me a review!!!