Javert and Eponine ducked into a small café and were approached by a tired-looking waitress.

"What would monsieur Inspector like?" she asked Javert, pointedly ignoring Eponine.

"Just coffee, and whatever mademoiselle would like." Javert replied, eyeing the waitress with a warning eye.

"This…person it with you, monsieur?" she asked, turning to look at the threadbare Eponine.

"She is indeed. Now go fetch what she would like, now."

"Right away monsieur."

Eponine stared at him in awe over the food that had arrived immediately after the waitress left. "No one has ever stood up for me like that, monsieur Inspector."

He eyed her uncaringly. What in the world did he care if no one ever stood up for her? He wasn't doing it for her, but for her information. He ignored the remark. The two ate in silence for a time.

"So," ventured Javert, "What is your name, mademoiselle?"

She was very reluctant to answer this question, but she knew it was mandatory. "Eponine The—Jondrette." She was hating herself inside. She had kept her identity as a Thenardier secret for how long now? How many years? How could she just slip this one time?

"Thejondrette?" Javert questioned. Eponine was a smart girl. She thought fast.

"Oh, monsieur I was about to say my middle name, Theresa, but I don't like it very much, so I proceeded to hide it from you. My name is Eponine Theresa Jondrette, monsieur Inspector."

"Oh, well that is a nice name." he lied. He hated the name Eponine, and the name Theresa. But he had brought the right girl with him, decidedly, because she was the Jondrette girl. She could lead to the arrest of her father and Patron-Minette, if she just let one thing slip about where these men met, so he could head them off. He just needed to make her talk. But how?

"I'm not sure why you're being so kind to me, monsieur Inspector, but I thank you." Said Eponine, tired of beating around the bush. "What is it you want of me?"

Javert, who was also a little tired of not getting to the point, was happy the Jondrette girl wasn't as stupid as he had anticipated. He just hoped to God the girl would talk. "Alright, Eponine." He thought a second longer. He was trying to think of how to appeal to her. He decided the first thing he'd try would be compassion. He knew he wasn't so good at that, but you never know until you try. "I'm getting a little worried about you."

Eponine sat up a little straighter and listened closely, knowing that this was lie, but wondering what he was getting at.

"You have many bruises that certainly didn't come from a fall, and you look as if you haven't had a bite in weeks. Who has done this to you?" he asked camly, finally getting some bit of concern onto his face.

She paused. So this is what he wanted! He wanted to use what her father and clients had done to her as a fuel for revenge! Then he would have her tell where to find her father and the rest of Patron-Minette during their little crime sprees. What would her father do to her if she told? She shuddered at the thought. Then, she remembered he'd be all the way in the can before he even knew that she had spoken a word. She thought for a while, weighing the circumstances and outcomes of her actions, or rather, her words. She only knew of two of her clients names, so only two would be involved at all, and that left the rest free to harass her and own her. She was quite undecided and Javert was getting anxious, but not impatient. He knew if he were impatient, he would ruin everything.

Eponine sighed, decided. " Monsieur Inspector,"

"Call me Javert." He interrupted her, trying to add a final touch.

She cringed inwardly at this. "Javert," she started again. "it is my father."

He urged her to go on. "What has your father done to you?" he asked her.

"He…he…sells me to people." She knew Javert would understand what that meant. "And he takes the money I earned and he spends in on himself. He hasn't fed me since I was a small child."

Javert looked her over. No matter how street wise and tough she was, she was still a small child. A young girl, scared, hungry, and ultimately pitiful. She was 16 years old, but she was very frail and fragile, as if she would break under the touch of a finger. He felt a pang of pity once more for the poor girl.

"Well, mademoiselle, I will see to it that he is put to justice."

"Very well."

"And by the way, do you know any of the names of the men who…"

She interrupted him. "I only know 2." She replied.

"Their names?"

"Montparnasse and Grantaire."