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Feuilly scanned the room. He was tired, and had a long day ahead of him tomorrow. Eponine had gone, after promising to meet him the next day. She was probably wandering the streets, looking for Pontmercy.

"So," someone said loudly in his hear, slinging a heavy arm over his shoulder. Feuilly didn't need to turn his head to see who it was; there was a strong reek of liquor on his breath. He sighed and turned toward Grantaire.

"What is it?"

"You don't scheem happy, F'ully," the Winecask slurred, a crooked grin twisting his mouth. Feuilly reined in a strong urge to drop him on the floor, instead setting him rather roughly into a chair.

"I'm fine. Just exhausted. It's been a long day," Feuilly said quietly.

"You're gonna be even more exshausted after trying to make shomethin' out of that Ep'nine girl," Grantaire chortled.

"We'll see about that," Feuilly retorted, turning on his heel. He bid brief goodbyes to les amis, and took his leave of the café.

"What did you do to Feuilly, Grantaire?" Combeferre asked, watching his friend leave briskly, "He seemed to be quite vexed."

"We made a bet!" Grantaire slurred happily, slurping down the last of the ale in his mug.

"A bet? Are you addicted to gambling as well as drink now?" Enjolras said angrily, giving the Winecask a dark look.

"No! I schwear! I jus' figured I couldn't lose this one!"

"What are the stakes?" Courfeyrac inquired. A huge grin split Grantaire's face,

"He wantsh to turn that Ep'nine girl whosh in love with the Bonapartist into a lady!" For a minute, Grantaire was so overcome with mirth that he nearly fell from his chair onto the floor.

"At least he's trying to do some good in this world," Enjolras said accusingly.

"Have you seen that girl, Enjolras?" Combeferre inquired, frowning, "I think she may be hopeless."

"There is always hope."

"Not for her!" Grantaire chortled merrily. He then proceeded to slump over the table and begin snoring. Shaking their heads and thinking that little good would come of this, les amis departed the café in favor of home and warm beds.

Feuilly made his way home slowly, trying to organize his spinning thoughts into some semblance of order. Eponine would begin her apprenticeship by cleaning brushes, his tired mind decided. That would keep her behind the scenes until her speech improved and…well, until she got clothes that covered her. Also, he would be able to make sure she was bathed and presentable. She had been told to wash herself before showing up the next day, but he wasn't too sure of her ability to follow direction.

He sighed as he unlocked the door to his small apartment. He was helping a girl who desperately needed it. Working with Eponine would be rewarding, he told himself as he trudged tiredly to his bedroom to undress. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Feuilly was asleep.

He woke early the next morning, and went through his usual routine; dressing, reading a bit, breakfast, then preparing his supplies. He was out on the square by nine, setting up his easel and paint pots. Eponine was to meet him at ten.

A little before eleven, she came dashing into the square. People stared as she skidded to a stop, looked around, and then took off toward Feuilly, lank hair streaming behind her.

"I-I'm so sorry monsieur," she gasped.

"Tardiness will not be tolerated, mademoiselle Eponine," Feuilly said crisply, "and you haven't bathed yourself like I asked you to."

"I meant to, you see. I just…well, me father was in a 'orrible mood this morning, an' 'e made me clean all the rooms. Mama was sick, and 'e wasn't about to clean 'em 'imself –"

"All right. Don't let it happen again," he said sternly, trying to conceal his sympathy. He truly felt for her, but she would have to learn, "And next time, wash up. You're not going to bring customers in by being filthy."

"Oh! I'll go an' find a place to wash right now! I'll 'urry, I promise!" Eponine didn't wait for permission, but darted off. Feuilly watched her, but didn't realize where she was going until it was too late. She was heading straight toward the big fountain in the middle of the square. He groaned as she proceeded to strip off her big men's boots, hike up her skirts, and hop right in. Passerby stopped to gawk at the skinny girl who splashed water on her legs and arms, then stepped out of the fountain and washed her face, completely oblivious to anyone. She picked up the boots and trotted back to her employer.

"Am I better now?" she asked, standing up as straight as possible and grinning proudly at Feuilly. He couldn't answer, but managed to nod. People were going back to their shopping now, although a few still watched the crazy girl to see what she would do next.

Feuilly managed to compose himself as a finely dressed woman approached them.

"Bonjour, monsieur," she said, "my dear friend told me that you paint beautifully, and I should like to commission a fan for my daughter's sixteenth birthday."

"Of course, mademoiselle," he said politely, "What design do you have in mind?"

The woman launched into a detailed description of a painting called Admiration, in which four beautiful, pale women were flanking a mother and her angelic child.

"It's the future I want for my dear Fleur," she said adoringly, "she'll be such a good wife and mother, and bear lovely children!" Feuilly nodded. Rich mothers often thought such of their daughters. It was grimly satisfying to know that they didn't always get their wish.

Eponine must have been standing behind him staring, for the woman said sharply,

"What are you gaping at, girl?"

"I…nothing," Eponine stammered, "It jus' sounds beautiful, that's all. I'm sorry." This seemed to mollify the woman, and perhaps even flatter her, and she began her lecture on the painting again.

Feuilly felt a stab of pity in his heart, and a new conviction to help this little beggar girl become a lady. Perhaps, after he had done his work with her, he would have a talk with Pontmercy. This little beggar girl deserved to be happy, and he would do anything in his power to help her become so.

Admiration is a painting done byWilliam Adolphe Bouguereau. I don't own it. If I did…I'd be rich.