A/N: Thank you to AbbeyMellarkAlways for her kind reviews and encouragement. Enjoy!
When morning came, a cold, pale gray light crept underneath the bridge. Eponine pulled the brim of her cap down over her face, trying to hide from both the light and the cold. Gavroche was still sleeping, his head resting on her shoulder. She put her hand on his flushed cheek. He flinched at her touch, and she realized how icy cold her hands must feel. A sudden gust of wind sent powdery, dry snow flying over them. Azelma shuddered, and pressed closer to Gavroche. "What was that?" she whispered. Beneath the stone arch of the bridge, Eponine could see dark gray clouds piling up in the sky. "Storm's coming," she whispered. "Just what we need," Azelma groaned, hiding her face under the blanket. Eponine reached over Gavroche and clasped Azelma's hand.
For a while the sisters lay quietly, each lost in her own thoughts, until Gavroche stirred between them. "'Ponine, I don't feel good," he moaned. "I know you don't," Eponine sighed.
"No, I really don't feel good."
Eponine sat upright as the realization dawned on her. "Do you think you feel like you're gonna be sick?" she asked. Gavroche nodded. She stood up and helped him to his feet, leading him away from their little nest. Near the river's edge, Gavroche collapsed on hands and knees, retching into the snow. Eponine knelt beside him, one hand pressed against his forehead, the other rubbing his back. "It's all right, just let it all out," she murmured. He hadn't eaten in a day or more, but dry heaves wracked his small body again and again. Azelma came over and draped the blanket around her brother's shoulders, and handed Eponine's coat to her. "Put this on, you'll catch your death," she chided. When the fit subsided at last, Gavroche collapsed against Azelma. Eponine wiped Gavroche's face gently with her sleeve. Azelma looked up at her, her eyes filled with fear. "This is bad, isn't it?" she whispered, "We've got to get help."
Eponine nodded. "I know," she said, "And I will." They helped Gavroche up and made their way back to the safety of the bridge, where Azelma gathered Gavroche into her arms. Eponine tucked the blanket around the two of them. "Stay with him," she said to Azelma, "Keep him warm. I'll be back in a few hours."
"What are you going to do?" Azelma asked. Eponine shook her head. "I don't know yet. But I'll to find some way to help him." She hugged them both, and climbed up the frozen steps to the bridge.
Eponine walked through the streets, her head down and her hands in her pockets, wondering what she could possibly do to help Gavroche. She watched people hurrying by, dodging in and out of shops, and bit her lip in frustration. Money, everything costs money, she thought bitterly, You've got to pay the doctor, you've got to pay for medicines, you've got to pay for food… And she hadn't a sou.
Begging was always an option––it hadn't worked terribly well for her in the past, but it was worth a try. "Excuse me, Madame!" she called out to the first person coming her way. She ran up to the woman and caught at her sleeve; startled, the woman pulled away, and began to walk more quickly. Eponine also quickened her steps to keep up with her. "Please, Madame, have you any spare change? My brother is very sick––" The woman hurried into a shop and shut the door behind her. Eponine turned around and ran after the next person in sight, with no more success. She spent the rest of the morning chasing after passersby, pleading in vain for help; people continued to walk by, as if blind and deaf to her. A few sympathetic souls were kind enough to stop and listen, but shook their heads, saying, "I'm sorry, but I've nothing to give you." While running to catch up with a tall, wealthy-looking man, who strode past her on long legs without a glance in her direction, she slipped on the icy cobblestones and fell facedown in the snow. A couple of people snickered as they walked past, but no one stopped to help her up. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she picked herself up and brushed the snow from her clothes––not tears of pain or embarrassment, though she was feeling both, but tears of sheer frustration. Why would nobody listen? Why didn't anyone care?
As she took off her cap to shake the snow from it, she got an idea––a crazy, desperate idea, but it wouldn't hurt to try. Standing at a street corner, she dropped her cap in the snow at her feet, and began to sing:
All hail to the days that merit more praise
Than all the rest of the year,
And welcome the nights that double delights
As well for the poor as the peer!
Good fortune attend each merry man's friend,
That doth but the best that he may;
Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,
To drive the cold winter away.
A man dropped a couple of coins into her cap; Eponine nodded to him with a grateful smile, and continued:
Let Misery pack, with a whip at his back,
To the deep Tantalian flood;
In Lethe profound let envy be drown'd,
That pines at another man's good.
Let Sorrow's expense be banded from hence,
All payments have greater delay,
We'll spend the long nights in cheerful delights
To drive the cold winter away.
A short distance away, a woman and two little girls stood listening. One of the girls tugged on her mother's sleeve and whispered something to her; the mother nodded in reply, and reached into her purse, pulling out a coin for each of the girls. Hand in hand, the girls shyly approached and placed the money in Eponine's cap. Eponine couldn't help smiling at their earnestness. The girls returned the look with smiles of their own before scampering back to their mother, who waved to Eponine before taking her daughters' hands and leading them across the street.
Eponine kept singing, her voice ringing out high and clear through the frosty air. Somehow she did not feel the cold so much. She was beginning to understand now why Gavroche was always making up songs––perhaps singing was what kept his spirits up when he was miserable and alone. Oh, Gavroche and his songs! She could always tell when he was near, whenever she heard him singing some nonsense or other. And then he'd come bounding up to her, laughing over his latest prank. It amazed her how he was always able to find something to smile about in the midst of misery.
The song had several verses; when she had finished, Eponine stopped for a moment to give her voice a rest. She tried to think of the songs she used to hear growing up––if only Gavroche were with her, he knew lots of songs! A snowflake landed on the back of her hand, calling to mind a song she used to sing as a little girl in Montfermeil, about snow falling. It was only a simple children's song, but it earned her a few more sous. She blew on her cold hands and rubbed them together, trying to think of another song; nothing coming to mind, she started over with "All hail to the days…"
As she came to the end of the song, someone clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you sound good." Turning her head toward the voice, Eponine saw a young man looking down at her. His face looked rather red, and not just from the cold; something about him seemed strangely familiar. "Thank you," she said, wondering where she had seen him before. "You're one of Marius Pontmercy's friends, aren't you?" she asked. "That I am," said the man bobbing his head and shoulders in a comical little bow, "Grantaire is my name. And you're Gavroche's sister, are you not? Um…Pauline?"*
"Eponine," the girl corrected, "'Ponine for short. But you're right, Gavroche is my little brother." Grantaire nodded. "I knew it. Where is that kid? I haven't seen him around much lately."
"He's sick," said Eponine. "My sister and I are taking care of him––or trying to, anyway––but we need money for medicines and stuff, so…" she gestured to her cap on the ground. "I don't think it'll be enough, but I don't know what else I can do."
Grantaire took her hand and pressed something into it. "Take this," he said, "And tell Gavroche to get well soon." Eponine stared at the five-franc coin in the palm of her hand. "Five francs…" she gasped, "Monsieur Grantaire, are you sure you can spare this much?"
"It's not that much, Eponine," said Grantaire, "I'm afraid it's all I've got on me at the moment. Please, take it."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely. What would I do with it except buy a drink––and Joly is always saying I should drink less, so we're both better off if I give it to you. Go buy Gavroche some medicine and hurry home before this little snowstorm turns into a blizzard."
"I will!" cried Eponine, "Thank you, Monsieur Grantaire; you are very kind!"
Grantaire laughed. "I've been called a lot of things, and kind isn't usually one of them. So long, Mam'zelle Eponine; give my regards to your brother!" Before Eponine could say another word, he had disappeared among the crowd of people and swirling snowflakes. Eponine caught up her cap, and ducked into an alley to count the money before tucking it safely away in her pocket. She found an apothecary's shop, and after consulting the little gray-haired shopkeeper as to what she needed, walked out of the shop with a small brown glass bottle in her pocket.
…
In the fading evening light, Azelma caught a glimpse of someone coming through the snow. "Wh-who's there?" she called out, trying not to let fear show in her voice.
"It's all right, 'Zel, it's me."
"Eponine!" Azelma cried, grabbing hold of her sister's sleeve. "Thank goodness you're back, I was afraid something happened to you!"
"How's Gavroche doing?" Eponine asked.
A muffled moan came from under the blanket. "I can't tell if he's worse, but he's no better," Azelma whispered. Eponine pulled back the corner of the blanket and ruffled her brother's hair. "Hey, kid," she said, "Can you sit up for me?" She took the bottle of medicine from her pocket and poured a small amount into the bottle-cap. "Here, drink this down."
"How did you get that?" Azelma asked. "For a song," Eponine said simply. She
wrapped her arms around Gavroche and Azelma, pulling them into a tight little knot against the storm.
Through the curtain of falling snow, a pale yellow beam of light stretched towards them. Azelma looked up from their huddle and gasped in fright. "Eponine," she whispered, "There's a man!" Eponine turned around to see the tall, shadowy figure approaching them, holding up a lantern. A pair of black boots crunched through the snow. "What are you doing here?" a stern voice demanded, "This is a bridge, it's not an inn. Be off or I'll have you taken into custody." A shudder ran through all three children; they knew all too well who that voice belonged to: Inspector Javert.
"Please, Inspector," Azelma begged, "We've nowhere else to go!"
"'Zelma, be quiet!" Eponine hissed. Javert turned on her. "I know you!" he said, "You're the daughter of that lout, Thénardier! I ought to arrest you––all three of you––I ought to put the whole of your wretched family behind bars."
"Have pity, sir!" Eponine cried, "Our brother's sick; he'll die in prison."
Javert looked down at the small, shivering bundle of rags between the two girls. The child's pale face, which Eponine was trying to shield from the cold, was all too familiar to him. He knew this boy well; Gavroche, he was called––the cheekiest and most mischievous child in Paris. Thénardier's son, was he? It figured; only a true denizen of the underworld could've fathered such a little imp.
The boy opened his eyes, staring up at Javert with a pitiful face. Underneath the grime, he was white as the snow falling around them. His cheeks had lost their usual ruddy complexion from running around all day in the winter air. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were dulled by pain and weariness. Rascal or not, pickpocket or not, nuisance or not, this was the face of a very ill little boy, who might very well not make it through the night if left out in this storm.
There was only one thing to do. Javert bent down and picked up Gavroche in his arms. "Come," he said to the girls.
"Where are you taking him?" cried Eponine. Javert did not bother to look at her as he replied. "To my home. Now come along, and bring the lantern."
*(A/N: In French, "Pauline" is pronounced "Po-leen," and would sound very similar to "Ponine.")