The Advantages of Losing a Hat
Back at the convent, Musichetta and Cosette had climbed down from their precarious perch and now stood in the street.
"We won't go far," Musichetta said, taking Cosette's hand as the wind blew up.
"My hat!" the younger girl cried as her plush hat was knocked from her head and carried far off down the street.
"Is this yours, mademoiselle?" a young man with wiry black hair said as he picked up the plush hat from the ground. With him was another student about his age, who was beginning to lose some hair from the crown of his head.
"It's my friend's hat," Musichetta said, walking up to the students, who handed Cosette's hat to her.
"Who are you monsieurs?" Cosette asked, wide-eyed with astonishment and anxiety.
"I'm Lesgle, but I prefer to be called L'aigle," the balding student said. "This here is my friend Bahorel,"
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Musichetta said with a smile. "You two are such gentlemen. You're students?"
"At the Sorbonne," Bahorel replied. "And you?"
Cosette looked around and tugged on Musichetta's skirt. "Chetta..." she whispered fearfully.
Musichetta blushed. "People call me Musichetta. And I study at the convent," she said, ignoring Cosette. "I guess you two are taking law?"
Bahorel and Lesgle exchanged an amused look. "You are a clever girl," Bahorel said, ignorant of the clatter of wagon wheels coming down the street.
"You're the first person to tell me that," Musichetta said.
Cosette gripped Musichetta's hand. "Look out!" she yelled before her cry was drowned out by shouts, and a terrible crash.