Paris threw on its deathly white cloak, and the city was transformed. Snow can hide the nature of a city. None of the dirt which normally shaded the stones was visible; the place could just have easily been a grand courtyard as a lowly patch of mud and grass. A poet would look at the ground and see in it grandeur, a land which no man has touched. Only the buildings, with their filth and flaws, rising out of this frozen sea, gave away the city. The snow would soon be blackened by smoke and dirt, and the city would once more become the place that it was supposed to be. One of the poor inhabitants of the city, upon looking at the snow masking the ground, would be horror struck. To them this ghostly face of the city would symbolise what they feared, as they overlook all that is beautiful about he land. Snow means cold, illness, starvation, suffering. It would mean soaked fuel for the fire which would not blaze. It would draw away the pleasantness of life, until the only thing left is cold and darkness. For some it even meant death. No. For the many people in Paris, snow was not to be rejoiced. Just as snow is the chime of joyful festive bells for rich children, it is the death toll for the beggars of the streets.

As for the gamin, the child of the streets, he did not quite understand misery. He did not seem to understand, in fact, that he was supposed to be unhappy in the terrible state of near starvation which he was in. He would still use the same routes across the city as he always did, and still hum the same carefree tunes. Snow made no difference to the food in shop windows which could be stolen in the blink of an eye. All it meant was a cushion for his bare feet, used to the cold as they were.

One of these childrenwalked over the snow. His feet had become numb long ago, a good thing, for his part. It meant that he could ignore the jaws of ice which gripped his feet like a bloodhound. The snow placed other people in foul moods, though, so he did not receive his usual round of smiles as he sung through the streets. Judging form his appearance, he could have had no intention in his wanders. But he had been walking constantly all day, hardly retracing a single road. The grins he had received, he had ignored. Singing was a habit to him, now, and to those who knew him it was clear that he was in deep thought. Every so often he would approach another gamin, speak a few inaudible words, and then continue on his way. He had taken a zigzagging path, sometimes turning back on himself, and sometimes walking down alleyways well known by him to be dead ends.

Eventually, after a day's worth of wandering, he came to a halt, and smiled.

Three figures stood on the side of a road. The road was not completely deserted, but not crowded either, due to the weather. There was no point in time when a person was not passing through it, and a few huddles of men stood to the side here and there along the length of the street. One of the figures was slightly bent over, this person was well beyond their youth. It was a man who looked to be near the end of his middle years, but he was well clothed in old clothes, with only a few tatters or holes. Facing him was a smaller slender shape, a girl. She appeared to be coping with her fits of shivers and the occasional cough well, and was talking to the man. Standing slightly to the side was another girl, as poorly clothed as the first, and slightly smaller. She stood awkwardly, her hands grasping around herself for warmth, and was watching the other girl with a gloomy light in her eyes.

The man was holding out a piece of paper, a letter, to the girl nearest him, which she was reading. From the way she stood, she was quite proud of her ability to read, and spoke with confidence the content of the letter to the man. He occasionally nodded or shook his head, and was listening intently to the words. When she was done, he placed a coin into her hand and hurried away.

"Got tired of living with the old layabouts, then?"

The two girls turned suddenly.

"Gavroche!" the younger exclaimed, and they both rushed towards the gamin who had just spoken.

"Where have you been? We looked everywhere," Eponine, the one who had read the letter, said,"or at least, everywhere that we could get to within a few days." She grinned, "'s funny, that when we at last stopped looking we found you."

"Don't forget, I was the one 'ho found you, spoke Gavroche, "so tell me. What brings y' here? That can't 'ave been one of our father's letters. He don't know where you are. "

"That, I'm not quite sure. I just had to stay away from home. I also felt that I needed to find you. No clue why, just that there's somewhere we need to be. Azelma just came for the sake of it." Azelma opened her mouth to complain, but Eponine continued, "She did have no reason to come. Come to think of it, I had no reason to come either… but anyway, I just offered to read that man's letter to him. Thought it would earn me a sou, and it did."

"I wanted to come!" Azelma cut in, "come on, if I hadn't come you would 'ave got nowhere. I don't believe you did search while I was. Ow! I can't talk any sense into her."

Eponine shoved her sister to the side once more. This time she was rewarding with a more satisfying squeak.

Gavroche seemed thoughtful. But somehow he kept up his cheerful manner, too. "You were looking for me? Well, here I am. I've no place better to go, and I've nowhere to stay, so what d' you need me for? What trick do you want this dog to do?"

From then they talked. Gavroche may have not taken anything seriously, Eponine might have not understood her own intentions, and Azelma might understand none of why she was there, but somehow the three siblings came to an understanding. How could Eponine know exactly what she was explaining? Her mind seemed to form a blockage, a barrier between her and home, or what she had once called home. If ever a stray thought managed to lurk towards returning, a different voice in her head spoke, and its meaning was clear: No! Subconsciously, she probably did wish to return to the place which she had left. The voice which discouraged her sounded chillingly unlike her own.

Gavroche told them about how he had found out that they had left, but did not mention why he himself had been in this area. He noticed Eponine's touchy reluctance to return, even though she herself could find no reason not to. Azelma did not say much, only to try to correct her sister or to attempt to explain why she had followed. There was still that sisterly connection between her and Eponine. It was of a kind that she felt inclined to follow her, should she get in trouble, which, in Eponine's case, was quite often. In any case when Eponine did fall into the pit of trouble, Azelma did not expect to be able to help. She just needed to be there. On the streets there would be cold, hunger, pain, and there was no doubt Eponine would suffer from her illogical idea of leaving. For Gavroche, it was normal, and she had long ago stopped bothering to worry about him. If she stayed on the streets with them, she would only experience the pain herself. But if Eponine was going to go through something difficult, Azelma felt she had to also.

Suddenly the snow began again. It should have meant nothing, but all three froze. Had there been a cry on the wind? No. It was just the same noise that a tree makes when its branches creek. Gavroche hastily brushed snow off his head, and stamped on the ground to hear the crunch of the snow. The silence penetrated better than any scream. The street was empty.

Their gazes met, and they turned towards one end of the street. It led away from the main shops. Away from the centre of the city.

The path they followed led out of the city.