"Any luck?" Azelma asked.

The glint of hope within the question had faded after the first three times it had been asked. The two girls had been searching for several hours now, but with no result.

"I found nothing," she continued, "Maybe we should stop for tonight… Eponine? Are you listening?"

"Huh?" Eponine looked up, "oh, no, I didn't find him."

Her sister sighed, "Who knows where Gavroche gets to. Maybe the only way to find him is to let him find us…"

A baby's cry made them both tense and look up, but as it faded they relaxed. The real matter at hand was where to go. Eponine, although she did not understand it, knew that she did not want to o back to her parents. Something was keeping her away from them. They decided to stay together, now that the cold of the night was really beginning to close in.

"We could sleep under the bridge," suggested Eponine, "Like we used to".

Azelma's face paled slightly. "The bridge? But it was terrible! It's wet, and won't keep out the cold."

Eponine remembered how much her sister had hated the bridge, where they had slept before their parents had found a home. The room had not been much of a home, but it was still inside. She imagined what it was like at No. 50-52 at the moment. There might even be embers in the fireplace at the moment, and it would have no wind to bite through her rags. Was it wrong to leave? She was not so much worried about herself as Azelma. No, some sort of instinct discouraged her from going back. If she did, she would be in danger…

"The bridge it is," she called, and ran towards the river, a smile on her face. Azelma had no choice but to follow.

They reached the bridge, and crept underneath it to the stone edge, hardly four feet across before you either hit the stone bridge or fell into the water. They slept the night there, on the wet stone. Eponine awoke early in the morning. She panicked for one second when she saw the frost and mud around her, and then remembered that she had left her home. The water on the river's side had turned into frost, and her breath looked like smoke. Seeing Azelma sleeping miserably beside her, she gave her a nudge. The girl whimpered, and mumbled something. Eponine nudged her again, a little harder this time.

"What?" she shouted, and would have complained more, until she saw her surroundings.

She silently sat up.

"We—we need to keep looking. Come on," Eponine felt a touch of guilt for letting her sister come with her. But she also felt annoyance that her sister could not take care of herself, and that she would have to be guided the whole way. That guilt may have been for the annoyance which she felt, too.

No word was spoken about food. It was not the sort of thing that either of them took for granted, anymore. This morning they stayed together, and searched further from their home. Their brother was nowhere to be seen, but Eponine refused to give up. Azelma even suggested returning to their parents once, but was replied with a glare. Eponine did not even understand her grim determination herself, but kept on. When noon was coming near, she thought of something.

"Remember the letters we lost?"

Azelma replied glumly, "you mean the ones you lost only a few days ago? What about them?"

"I still remember the directions some. Or do I? Yes, there was that turn down the left street, then… Whoever the letter was for might give us food."

Her sister's eyes lit up, "You think they will?"

Eponine turned down a small street, "if Papa thought the person would give us money, I don't see why they wouldn't give a little bread."

They soon reached a small house. It was run down, but looked enough like the sort where a sympathetic person would live.

"Ah! I remember now. This one was Madame the—what was it?—I can't remember!"

By this time, they had reached the front door. She knocked twice, and after a few moments the door opened.

"Yes?" a woman answered. She wore skirts which looked clean enough, and she appeared kindly. Her gaze fell upon the two girls, and she frowned. "What is this? I do not have much to give."

"I beg your pardon, Madame, but we have been sent by our father. We are a large family, you see, and there are too many mouths to feed. If you please, we only need a little bread, just for the two of us. We do not expect to get another chance to eat until tomorrow."

After Eponine had spoken, the woman sighed. "I guess I could spare a little. Wait here."

After she had retreated back into the house, Azelma gave a sigh of relief. The woman returned with a small loaf of bread, which appeared dry, and had a hard crust. Nevertheless, it was better than they could have hoped for, and Eponine took it hastily from the woman's hand. She did remember to smile, but by then the door had been closed.

Having eaten, they resumed their search. The day became no warmer, and the street was darkened by a huge, grey cloud, looming over them like a great wave threatening to crash down at any second. Neither spoke of whether their parents would look for them. Azelma wondered what would happen if they were found. She had no reason not to return, but she could not seem to be able to talk sense into her sister. Not that Eponine acted sensibly on any normal day, but her insane ways of dealing with life always somehow seemed to work. Their parents had often congratulated her for being successful, when she had actually done only half the work she was supposed to.

Eponine's constant humming, which had been continuous since they had eaten, suddenly stopped. Azelma stopped also, and was about to ask what was wrong when she was hushed. There was a wall by the path, and there were noises on the other side. It became clear that there was a person. "Gavroche?" Azelma mouthed, but Eponine shook her head. There was shuffling, and the sound of boots too heavy to be a boy. Eponine shrugged and continued walked, but the footsteps came nearer and nearer. There was a gap in the wall a bit in front of them, where the wall had been knocked down—

"Eponine! Azelma! What the devil have you been doing? And in this weather, too! Did you mean to worry your mother this much, or have you just finally gone insane?"

"Montparnasse, why'd you scare us like that? It's not the first time I've stayed out at night."

"But Azelma never went out before; anyway, your father needs you. I've been sent to get you home."

"Get us home? Look, I don't need you," she laughed, "We'll come home as soon as possible. See?"

Montparnasse knew her and her parents, as he had agreed to perform dirty work for her father before. As usual, he wore fashionable and well made clothes, but they were dulled from the ruffian's work he did.

He shook his head, "I've been told to take you home."

This made a pause. Azelma did not dare speak; she did not have the right to make Eponine's decision. Eponine continued, trying to sound cheerful, "I'm able to go home myself. So can Azelma. Let us be, we don't need you."

Montparnasse grabbed Eponine's arm, and tried to drag her. She resisted, but he only tightened his grip enough to make her clench her teeth. He began to walk back in the direction of their home. Azelma stood, with no knowledge of what to do.

"Let go! Or…or…"

"Or what? Azelma, will I need to drag you, too?" Azelma bit her lip, and then ran in front of him, in a feeble attempt to block his way. The man continued, "You really have gone insane, then. I have a good mind to—"

He froze. A flake of snow had fallen from the sky. More followed, and soon the whole sky was filled with dancing flakes, in such a rush that they had to squint to keep it from getting in their eyes. A sudden wind swept snow across the path, in front of them. The air suddenly felt much colder than it had been. It was as if ice had managed to creep all over their clothes, and a whipping wind spun in a circle around them. Eponine took this chance to escape from his loosened grip. He did not seem to notice, though. He stood, his face pale. The wind made sounds, as it always does. But these sounds seemed different. A mournful wail seemed to come from within the wind, and it rose, until moans and cries surrounded them. There was no relief from these cries, no escape. She took Azelma's hand, and together they began to run. Away from this crying, away from this wind. On they ran. They ran until they were too tired to run any more.

The following day, a boy was walking through the streets. This boy was Gavroche, the brother of Eponine and Azelma. He spoke some rude words to an old crone, and was singing. He was heading towards the home of his family, No. 50-52. He was scruffy and thin, and wore no shoes. His span of knowledge was that of a man's, but he treated rough matters of the street with the same innocence and twinkle a young boy would treat his game with. He went to visit his family every so often to remind them that he existed, so he told himself. Nothing exactly happened when he visited, as they were too caught up in their own matters.

He shoved the door, and, as usual, it swung open. The normal sight met his eyes: the two pallets, the dirt in the corners—was that a new cobweb?—but the people inside this lair acted differently. There were the two people who he was ashamed to call his parents. They were arguing, and he caught a part of their conversation.

"It's because of you! If you didn't work them all day and sent them galloping about Paris this never would have happened! All you care about is your way of getting money, and it's always them who suffer from it."

"Quiet. What would our neighbour think of us? He can hear us, no doubt. Anyway, I sent Montparnasse to find them."

They stopped, suddenly aware that they were no longer alone in the room. Gavroche, cheerful as always, spoke up.

"What's this? Why the shouting?" a pause, and he then added, "What of my sisters?"

"You!" the cry which emerged from this mother could have been directed at a complete stranger, "do you know where they are?"

"No more than you seem to. Ah! They're gone? Both of them?"

"Yes, they're gone. What are you staring at?"

It was at this point when he decided to leave. He strolled down the street singing, and no onlooker could have guessed the turmoil and confusion which churned inside the small boy.