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Eponine was waiting for Feuilly the next morning, beaming. She seemed completely oblivious to the coldness he had shown her last night, and was so excited about her new gown that he couldn't be cross with her. He had worried that he should go with her, so that she wouldn't waste all her money on something terribly fancy, but the dress she wore was simple and pretty.

It was a medium shade of green, with a high empire waist and long sleeves. There were no fancy laces or decorations, but that seemed to suit her. Eponine had even spent wisely enough that she had been able to get a small, ladylike pair of shoes that didn't quite match the dress, but were close.

"Isn't it pretty?" she asked happily, twirling around to show him the only decoration; a bow that tied in back. Feuilly nodded, very satisfied with her taste.

"I'll make a lady out of you yet, Eponine," he said, smiling. She had even made an attempt to pin up her hair, although she hadn't done it very well. Strands escaped the pins and fell down around her face, and she was constantly brushing it out of her eyes.

"I couldn't find 'nough pins," she explained, trying to catch too much hair in one and failing. It fell right back into her eye, and she pursed her lips in frustration.

"I can't get the 'airstyle right 'neither," she pouted, stomping her delicate slipper onto the cobblestones with such force that Feuilly feared she had made a hole in it.

"Well, maybe one of our clients will be kind enough to tell you how to do it better," he suggested, "Or you can at least get a closer look at the way they do it. But don't gape at them."

"You don't hafta scold me," Eponine said, looking a bit wounded, "I only did that once."

"Oh…I'm sorry, Eponine. I'm tired today. I've got a headache and I didn't sleep well last night."

"Why not?" she inquired bluntly. Feuilly shook his head,

"I'm not sure. I had these odd dreams. I was chasing something…but I didn't know what," he sighed and shrugged. Eponine was fiddling with her hair again, and seemed disinterested.

"I wish I could've gotten a more ladylike one," she mused, "but the old bat in the fine shop wouldn't let me in."

"Wouldn't let you in?"

"Said that a beggar girl like me 'ad no place in a fine shop for ladies. I told her I was a lady, jus' as fine as any underneath, but she put me out."

"Well, I think your dress is fine," Feuilly said firmly, "and it's perfect for your position right now."

Eponine seemed to accept this, and gave up on attempting to make her hair stay up. It wasn't as if she would run into Monsieur Maris while she was working anyway. She began forming a plan in her head for when she would reveal her new self to him.

She would buy a new, finer dress, and shoes with heels, and perhaps even go to a salon and pay them to put her hair up fashionably. And she would go to his house. Perhaps he wouldn't even recognize her. How exciting! To think that he would bow over her hand, and kiss it. And then, perhaps he would kiss her! Oh, how wonderful! She had never been kissed before, but she was sure she knew how it felt.

Perhaps it was Feuilly's sour mood, or Eponine's self-absorption, or the lack of customers, but the day seemed to go by ever so slowly. Searching for a way to pass the time, Feuilly fished a small book out of his bag. It was Lyrical Ballads, a book of poetry by Wordsworth and Coleridge.

"Do you know how to read, 'Ponine?" he asked, using for the first time that day the familiar nickname. She shrugged.

"A little."

"Read to me."

"If you promise not to make fun. I 'aven't read in a long while."

"I promise," he said, hiding his smile, "pick one that sounds good."

Eponine looked down the list and threw him an impish smile.

"I've got one. It's about what you're 'elping me to be. It's called Perfect Woman. Maybe it will 'elp me know how to do my hair up."

"Perhaps," Feuilly said dryly, "let's hear it."

"She was a p…antom…"

"Phantom," he corrected, "ph together makes an f sound."

"Oh…a phantom of delight

When first she glea…m'd upon my sight;

A lovely app…app…"

"Apparition."

"Apparition, sent

To be a moment's or..na..ment. Ornament, is that right?"

"Yes. You're doing well. Keep going."

"Her eyes as stars of twi…twilight fair;

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape, an image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay," Eponine read that far, and suddenly closed the book, frowning, and jumped up from her seat. Feuilly looked at her, startled. Her voice was less than melodious, but it was lulling him into a sort of sleepy peace that he had begun to enjoy.

"That poem is stupid," Eponine declared, tossing the book into Feuilly's lap.

"What? Why?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms, looking as if she were about to burst into tears. Feuilly was completely bewildered. Eponine was young, he knew, but she had never before acted so childish.

"Eponine," he began, trying to make his voice soothing, "come and sit back down, and tell me why you're so upset."

Her lip quivered and she shook her head again. Feuilly was shocked to see that her eyes were full of tears now. What could be causing this? The girl had him absolutely bewildered. He tried a third time, patting the chair next to him.

"Please?"

She plopped down on the chair, being very unladylike, and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them and rocking back and forth. Suddenly, she burst out.

"That stupid poem sounds like her. Pretty and given ev'rything she could ever want."

"Who?"

"Cosette," Eponine spit the name as if it was the foulest of tastes on her tongue. Feuilly was still completely lost. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose against an oncoming headache.

"Who's Cosette?"

"That evil, mean girl that Monsieur Marius is in love with," Eponine said, a tear trickling down her cheek. She swiped at it with her sleeve.

A sudden anger stirred in Feuilly's breast. Anger at Eponine for being in love with Marius, anger at Marius for treating her so shabbily, and annoyance at himself because he didn't know why these events made him so angry. Eponine was talking again.

"And she's 'ad everything 'er whole life. A rich father who dotes upon her, an' doesn't beat her when she doesn't make 'is quota. It's not me fault I've had an 'ard life! An' it's not me fault I'm ugly! Oh, it's not fair!"

"Oh, 'Ponine," Feuilly sighed, patting her on the back. His anger had dissipated, and he simply felt sorrow for this girl who was so lost and alone.

"I-I'm sorry," she dashed away the last few tears with her sleeve, "I never cry. It won' happen again, I promise." Eponine was ashamed of herself now. She had been on the streets almost all of her life, and had never broken down like this before, in front of anyone. But then again, she had never really had a friend before.

"It's all right," Feuilly said gently, "don't be ashamed. How about we call it quits early and go for a walk in the park?"

"Oh, I don't know. If Monsieur Marius saw me, he might think…"

"You said he was out of town just yesterday," Feuilly said, a bit sharply. He caught himself. Why was he so touchy about Pontmercy? Because Enjolras had so little respect for him, Feuilly decided. Because he was a Bonapartist. Having convinced himself of this, Feuilly gathered his things.

"Just let me drop these off at my apartment, and we'll go for a walk. All right?"

"All right," Eponine nodded and managed a little smile. Feuilly returned it and offered his arm. She took it a little awkwardly, and he had to move her hand from his wrist to his elbow, but the pair was soon on their way.

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