Javert carried Gavroche up the slippery steps to the street level. Azelma followed behind him, holding the lantern and stepping carefully in his footprints. Eponine stayed close behind them, a little distrustful of Javert, and not about to let her brother and sister out of her sight. A carriage waited for them on the bridge. The gray horse hitched to the carriage was snorting and stamping its feet in the snow. The driver climbed down from his seat and opened the door for Javert. "Get in," Javert said to Eponine. He laid Gavroche down on the seat beside her so that his head rested in her lap. Azelma took the seat across from Eponine, and immediately curled up as close to the window as possible when she saw Javert sit down next to her. "Driver, take us to number twenty-six Rue La Fayette, please."

"Yes, Monsieur," said the driver. He climbed back onto his seat, and the horse trotted away down the cobblestone street. For the better part of the drive, silence prevailed in the carriage, broken only by an occasional cough from Gavroche. Javert remained rigid as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on some point on the opposite side of the carriage. When the carriage stopped in front of a large, gray house, which, even in the twilight looked like it had weathered many a winter, he got out to pay the driver. "And, if you please," he said, handing the man a few extra sous, "Stop at the doctor's on Rue Jourdain, and ask him to come at once." He returned to the back of the carriage to collect Gavroche. Eponine and Azelma scrambled out of the carriage and ran after him up the shoveled path leading up to the front door.

A stout, middle-aged housekeeper opened the door. "Ah, there you are, Monsieur!" she said, "What kept you so long? I––oh." She stopped abruptly when she saw the pale, sick child cradled in Javert's arms.

"I was detained on my way home, as you can see, Mme. Pascal," said Javert. "I will explain later. Have you lit the fire in my room?"

"Yes, Monsieur, quite some time ago."

"Good. Please light one in the spare room as well, and make up the bed. The doctor is on his way; when he arrives, show him upstairs." Having given his orders, Javert stepped quickly up the long, dark staircase. Mme. Pascal turned to Eponine and Azelma, looking the girls over. "Have either of you two had anything to eat today?" she asked. "No, Madame," Azelma murmured quietly. "Well, we'll have to do something about that," said Mme. Pascal, "Come along to the kitchen." She led the way down a carpeted hallway to a warm, tidy kitchen. The two girls were soon seated by the cast-iron stove, thawing out their stiff, white hands. Mme. Pascal put a kettle of water on the stove to boil for tea, and set out a plate of bread and cheese for the girls. "There, now, that's for you; eat up," she said. The hungry sisters needed no second invitation.

…

Javert carried Gavroche to his own room, dimly lit by the warm glow coming from the fireplace. The boy coughed as Javert laid him down on the bed and pulled the quilt over him. Javert felt his hot forehead, frowning. It seemed wrong to see the little terror laid low like this.

"Monsieur, the doctor is here." Javert turned around to see Mme. Pascal standing in the doorway, carrying a lamp; a man with a black bag in his hand stood just behind her. She set the lamp on the small table by the bed, and quietly left. "Doctor Leblanc, it is good of you to come on such short notice," said Javert. "Good evening, Inspector," said the doctor, "I assumed it must be an urgent matter, though I must say it's a surprise to be called to your house. You are not ill, Monsieur?"

"No, no; it's the boy I've called you for."

Dr. Leblanc raised his eyebrows. "The boy?"

"Yes." Javert gestured toward the little body huddled under the quilt.

"Pardon me, Inspector, I wasn't aware that you were caring for a child. Is he your…nephew?"

"No!" Javert snapped, "He is no relation to me whatsoever!"

"I see." Dr. Leblanc gently pulled back the quilt and began to examine Gavroche.

"Well?" said Javert after a while, "What is it?"

"Influenza," the doctor sighed, "A rather bad case of it, I'm afraid." He looked up at Javert. "Monsieur, I know you said the boy is not related to you, but I must ask, where did he come from?"

"From the street," Javert answered, "I found him with his sisters, huddled under a bridge in the snow."

Dr. Leblanc nodded gravely. "It is as I feared," he said, "He has probably been ill for some time now, and not been treated properly, if at all. Most likely, lack of food and exposure to the cold have made it difficult for his body to fight the illness. I will do what I can, but at this stage…the odds are not in his favor."

…

When she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Eponine jumped up from her chair by the kitchen stove and ran down the hall. She saw Javert talking to another man––the doctor, she assumed it must be. "I will come again tomorrow," the man said, "Give him the medicine, and keep the room warm; when he wakes, see if you can get him to drink a little tea, or some clear broth. It would be best if someone could sit up with him tonight."

"Thank you, doctor," said Javert, holding the door open as the man stepped out into the cold. As he closed the door, he turned around and caught sight of Eponine. "It's bad, isn't it?" she said, in a way that was not so much a question as a statement. Javert nodded gravely. "Is he going to be all right?" she asked anxiously. "That remains to be seen," said Javert.

Mme. Pascal came down the stairs. "Monsieur, the guest room is ready. I'm afraid there's only one bed," she said to the girls, "so you two will have to share."

"That's fine," said Eponine, "We're used to it." Mme. Pascal led them upstairs to the spare room, which lived up to its name, for it was furnished as plainly as a room could be without looking shabby. To Eponine and Azelma, however, the simple furnishings seemed more than adequate. "A bed!" Azelma exclaimed, "Look Eponine, a real bed, with a quilt and sheets and pillows! And a rug on the floor! And look at the window––the glass isn't cracked, and it has curtains and everything!"

While Azelma exclaimed over their room, Eponine slipped quietly into the room next door, and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to her little brother. "Hold on, Gavroche," she whispered, taking his hand in hers, "Don't leave me."

"It's getting late, Mademoiselle Thénardier. You ought to be in bed." Eponine turned her head and saw Javert standing in the doorway. "I can't leave him," she said, "I promised…" She looked down the pale, dirty little face on the pillow. "He's got to get better. He will, won't he?"

"If his attitude toward illness is anything like his attitude toward the law," said Javert, "I have no doubt he will find some way to defy it." He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, across from Eponine. "If you wish to stay up with him tonight, you may." He sat down, assuming the same stony rigidity of the carriage ride earlier.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Eponine said slowly, feeling that she should say something. Javert's only response was a silent nod. This is going to be a long night, she thought.

Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I'll try to finish the next chapter a little sooner.

A couple of notes: the flu may not seem like a big deal nowadays, but in the 1800s (and even today, in places where people don't have access to good health care), it was a serious illness––especially if you were stuck living on the streets with no money and no place to go. I'm no expert on disease, so please forgive me if my depiction isn't accurate.

When I was writing about Dr. Leblanc, for some reason he took on the voice and face of Father Mulcahy from M*A*S*H––I have no idea why, but I kind of like it.