Note: I'm making Azelma younger than she is in the Brick.
The second time Grantaire saw the gamine, she had a little charge with her.
He was lazing on a bench in the village, draining the last of his bottle of absinthe, when a tiny, filthy girl scampered into his field of vision. She was perhaps ten years old, give or take a couple years. Her rapid steps slowed to a halt in front of an unmanaged bakery stand. (The vendor had stepped around to the back of the shop a moment ago to replenish the stock.) Grantaire couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he observed the dastardly gleam that leapt into the little imp's eyes. She cast a quick glance around her, then whipped out a tiny hand and snatched up a roll.
"'Zelma!"
Grantaire's eyebrows pushed up his forehead at the sound of that familiar, raucous voice. His expression of surprise transitioned into one of delight as the gamine from yesterday's encounter came into view. Éponine.
"Drop it," Éponine hissed, grabbing the little girl's elbow.
"What! But why? No one's here."
"Drop it, 'Zelma."
The little girl gawked for a moment longer, but Éponine's stern expression did not falter. Finally, she dropped the roll, her bottom lip protruding in a formidable pout.
"I don't get it, 'Ponine," she sulked as the older gamine steered her away from the stand. "You've lifted your share of food. Lifted much more than that when you go with Papa on his trips."
"It's different now, 'Zelma." Éponine said. "Monsieur Marius won't like to consort with thieves."
Grantaire arched an eyebrow.
"Well I don't wanna consort with Monsieur Marius either," the girl shrugged.
Éponine rolled her eyes. "You're my sister, 'Zelma. I'm stained by association."
The little girl muttered something back about 'Papa', and Éponine already being black as dirt. Grantaire didn't catch her exact words, for at that point he'd heard enough to erupt into a great belly laugh. Éponine's head jerked up and snapped over to the direction of the sound.
"You!" she exclaimed. At first she didn't seem altogether displeased to recognize him. But then he chose to tease.
"I see the mystery of milady's attendance at Le Café Musain has been solved," Grantaire said, smirking.
Éponine's eyes widened—then narrowed again, and her lip curled into a sneer. She opened her mouth to say something biting, but snapped it shut as Grantaire pushed himself off the bench and walked in their direction. The baker had started coming back around to the front of the shop, and Grantaire waved him down.
"Two rolls, please," he said pleasantly, and dropped some coins onto the stand.
The way the little girl's face lit up as he tossed her a roll made him chuckle anew. He stretched out his hand and offered the second roll to Éponine – but she crossed her arms firmly over her chest and continued glaring at him. Shrugging, he tossed that one to her sister as well, who positively squealed with delight.
"Zelma, is it?" he asked the young girl, as she eagerly tucked in.
"A-zelma to you," Éponine snapped, before her sister could respond.
Grantaire grinned. "Azelma and Éponine. Who would've known I'd be blessed with such fine company today. Shall we take a stroll?"
He began walking and Azelma quickly fell into step beside him, chewing happily on her rolls. Éponine made a sound of protest. But then Azelma reached up and tugged on Grantaire's sleeve, launching into some chatter about how yesterday she found the perfect thing to replace her doll's missing leg with. Éponine sighed.
As she drew up to join them, Grantaire cast her a sideways smile, then turned his attention back to Azelma and her story.