A beautiful spring morning dawned over Paris, perfect for romance. Jean Valjean and his young daughter Cosette took a long walk in the Luxembourg Park, before sitting down on a bench and enjoying the natural beauty surrounding them. Cosette took it all in, blissfully unaware that she would meet her true love that day.

Marius Pontmercy was also unaware, but as it happened, he was sick in bed that day, and didn't go to the park until two days later.

In the meantime, there was Cosette, a tentative blossom just starting to show her head, fragile as a flower, and beautiful as the sunrise. None of this was lost on the young student who stood a ways away, completely enchanted by the delicate girl. Her father looked a little intimidating, but nothing ever frightened this rash, boisterous boy. He strode up to the bench, giving Cosette a deep bow with a flourish of his hat. Jean Valjean frowned upon the young man, being wary of all strangers.

"Hello, mademoiselle," the boy said, taking the liberty of lifting her gloved hand to his mouth and kissing it. Cosette smiled and blushed at his forwardness.

"Excuse me," said Valjean. "Who are you?"

"Forgive me. Alexandre Bahorel."

"I am Monsieur Fauchelevant," said Valjean, using his alias. "Is there something you want with my daughter?"

"I saw her sitting here, radiant and beautiful beyond belief. I want to talk to her, if you'll permit it."

Valjean narrowed his eyes. "I don't."

"In that case, I will be seeing you again, mademoiselle . . .?"

"Cosette." She lowered her eyes beneath his gaze, blushing with pleasure.

"Cosette." He said the name tenderly as he kissed her hand again.

He was there the next day and the day after, and though Marius was now well enough to be out, Cosette never saw. He saw her, but she was just another lovely girl who was obviously already in love.

Cosette was not in love, but she did daydream about the tall, brawny, hazelnut-haired student a lot. This startled her, since he had been so forward, but he was a gentleman, she could see that. She longed to speak to him, to discover more about this strange young man who had so breathtakingly aroused her interest.

Finally, she confronted her father. "Papa, please let me talk to Alexandre."

Valjean stiffened. "That student? What do you want with him?"

Cosette found herself blushing. "I just want to get to know him better."

Valjean hardly knew how to handle the situation. Already he could see this "getting to know him better" turning into a full-fledged relationship leading all the way to marriage. He panicked. "No, Cosette. His intentions might be evil."

All the same, they would often find their usual bench occupied by a spray of flowers or a box of expensive chocolates, all bearing a note with the inscription: For the beautiful (or exquisite, or rapturous, or even once, ravishing) Cosette/From Alexandre Bahorel. Once it said 'From your Alexandre Bahorel'. Valjean noticed Cosette becoming increasingly melancholy, always excepting their outings to the park.

Bahorel's companions also found him behaving strangely. Usually the loudest, brashest, and generally stupidest in their group, he had now become quite serious, attended his classes, and actually started producing reasonable grades.

"Are you feeling well, dear Bahorel?" Joly asked him.

"Perhaps he received some tragic news," said Combeferre. "That can mess with your mind."

Courfeyrac laughed. "He's fine. I know exactly what's going on." He snickered. "Bahorel is in love."

But finally, after almost a month of agonized staring at one another, Valjean allowed Cosette to speak to Alexandre Bahorel, under his strict supervision, of course.

One day, Bahorel spoke to Valjean alone. "I want Cosette to meet my friends. I request your permission to take her to our café."

"At what time?" Valjean asked suspiciously.

"Five in the evening."

"I will accompany you," Valjean said, rather graciously he thought, a little overprotectively Bahorel thought.

On the way to the Café Musain, Bahorel nervously informed Cosette about the Friends of the ABC.

"Women aren't allowed in the back, so you'll have to wait in the front room. I'll try to make sure the meeting doesn't go on too long."

In the dim light of the street lamps, Cosette saw that Bahorel was sweating. She wondered if he was afraid of what his friends would think of him – think of her.

Valjean, walking behind, watched with a vague sense of loss as Cosette slipped her tiny white hand into Bahorel's large one.

Valjean and Cosette waited in the front room of the café, both their minds racing. Valjean had no doubts that Cosette and Bahorel were in love, and this greatly disturbed him. Cosette felt an excess of joy that Alexandre liked her enough to want to introduce her to his friends.

At last the meeting ended and the students filed out, Bahorel rushing to Cosette's side. "Friends," he said, placing his hands on her thin shoulders. "This is Cosette Fauchelevant."

Cosette blushed profusely as Bahorel's friends all came forward, bowed to her, and kissed her hand. All but one. The leader of the group, a certain Enjolras, merely bowed and did not take her hand, though he did whisper, "I wish you my deepest congratulations," making her blush anyway. Marius Pontmercy was there, of course, bowing and kissing her hand. She didn't recognize him; why should she? But he knew her and tried not to be jealous.

"So," said Courfeyrac, who had kissed her hand the longest, "when's the wedding?"

Bahorel probably would have decorated the walls with bits and pieces of Courfeyrac then if Cosette had not been present. Cosette went red all the way down to her toes, though, and Valjean's brain began to melt. Bahorel hurried Cosette out of the café, seething.

"I'm sorry," he said, once they were outside. "Courfeyrac's an idiot."

"Is it really so silly what he said, though?" Cosette whispered. She lowered her head, a little shocked at her audacity.

Bahorel felt his heart tremble at her words. He gently lifted her head up and, without thinking, drew her close to him. "Is it?" he murmured, lost in thought.

"I don't think it is." Out of the corner of her eye, Cosette saw Valjean step out of the café, looking fit to burst. She did care. She didn't care at all. She wrapped her arms around Bahorel's neck, and standing on tiptoe, kissed him on the lips.

Fin

(And then Valjean saves Bahorel from the barricade, not Marius (sorry, Marius), and Cosette marries Bahorel and they all live happily ever after. And for those who want to know, Cosette and Bahorel had nine boys and named each one after each of their departed friends. Yes, even a Marius. Though they could never decide if their youngest should be called Jean or Jehan.)