"I have come to take Cosette away."

Had she heard properly? The child’s heart was beating much faster now, and she clasped her little hands together expectantly. She would not mind going away with this big man –she would not mind at all. He looked different than Thénardier. Strange in his yellow coat and funny hat, but with much kinder eyes, to be sure. Perhaps he was here to take her back to her own real mama, and they would all live together and be a family. The very thought brought tears to Cosette’s eyes.

The strange man had been here for some time now, sitting and watching. He had been watching Cosette, though she did not know it. He had been thinking of how to broach the subject on his mind. He had been thinking, also, how thin the little girl was, and how sad she looked next to the rosy pair playing by the fire. They were both plump, one fair-haired, the other brunette, clean and prettily dressed. They had undertaken to wrap a kitten in a blanket, and were having a grand time of it.

Then there was the little girl sitting beneath the table. She had been knitting quietly since he came in, her dark head bowed over the stockings she was working. When she looked up from her task, it was with round, dull eyes. She sighed a bit, glanced around the room, then returned to her work.

And now, what was this? This man said he wanted to take her away? Cosette was both frightened and excited at the prospect of leaving –of never having to see the Thénardiess again!- but she did not dare show it. No matter what this man was like, he must be better than the Thénardiess. He would not make her knit stockings for ‘Ponine and ‘Zelma, and he would buy her pretty things, and hold her on his lap.

"Cosette?" Thénardier inquired. His eyes narrowed critically. "Who sent you?"

The strange man looked around the room, replying in a hushed voice, "Cosette’s mother, Fantine, has passed on. Her dying wish was that I should bring her daughter to her."

He had been pointedly quiet, though not quiet enough, and the little girl heard. The swell she had felt in her chest began to disappear, replaced by a very hard heaviness, and she sat down beneath her table. Cosette put her head on her knees and hugged her legs, rocking frantically. If anyone had bothered to take heed, they would have heard her crying, in a whisper of a voice, "My mother is dead, my mother is dead, my mother is dead…"

She did not hear what happened after that. She did not care about the strange man in the yellow coat. She only knew that she wanted to be with her mother and now she could never be. Her mother was passed away, and that meant she had died. And that meant she couldn’t come back.

‘Ponine and ‘Zelma had found a dead mouse once. They found it outside, and it was cold and hard as a rock. ‘Ponine had picked it up in her hand and brandished it in Cosette’s face, and Cosette shuddered. ‘Zelma laughed. That night, Cosette found the mouse in her bed beneath the stairs. She picked it up in her hand as ‘Ponine had done and brought it outside. She even dug a little hole for it and laid it in. She was not sure why, other than knowing that this is what one does with a dead thing.

Somebody must have buried her mother in a hole, too.

She heard Thénardier go on whispering with the strange man. Finally he said, "M’sieur, I must have fifteen hundred francs."

When the money was laid out before him, Thénardier turned to his wife with the brusque command "Fetch Cosette." The ogre of a woman only stared at him vacantly, then turned to carry out the command. An idea occurred to Thénardier then, and he laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. "Wait." Turning to the stranger, he said in his sweetest voice, "M’sieur, if it pleases you, I need to have words with my wife. We shall only be a moment." And the two disappeared into the kitchen.

"I do not know who he is or what business he has here, but think what we might do with that sort of money! Think of what we might do for your girls! And he’s not to know which is Cosette and which is ‘Ponine!" Thénardier turned on his most persuasive tone.

The Thénardiess swept a ruddy hand over her face. "What is it you’re proposing, then?"

"We’ll keep Cosette and give him ‘Ponine. Maybe even throw ‘Zelma in for the bargain!"

"You’re mad!" The Thénardiess roared. Her brawny face flushed red.

Thénardier held up a hand to silence her. "Listen, my flower, surely that man can give your daughters a better life than I ever could. They’ll be doubly safe and happy, and we shall inquire upon them from time to time. Cosette will stay on with us and attend to the housekeeping and the guests, and take care of Gavroche."

"You’re mad," the Thénardiess repeated. "I’d sooner give him Gavroche." But the gusto had gone out of her, and her husband knew he had her cornered.

"Times are hard, my dear," he said softly. "Wouldn’t you like to be certain that your daughters will grow up in good company? Why, this inn barely provides income enough to sustain life! You know well enough the struggles we have, just to put food on the table! Doesn’t Eponine deserve better? And Azelma too? In a few years, once we’ve earned enough to stay afloat, we’ll send for them, and be rid of Cosette. It will be great fun for them. Wouldn’t you have enjoyed an excursion into Paris when you were a girl?"

The Thénardiess shook her head adamantly. "You’re a crazy old bastard. I won’t see you sell my girls for your profit."

"Oh, then we needn’t accept any money…" Thénardier offered.

"Like hell!" The wife growled. "If I am going to hand my children over to a stranger, I want to know that he’ll pay enough to care for them. You wring every last sou out of him, you hear?"

"I care only for their well-being, my pet."

In truth, Thénardier cared little –and could have cared less- about the welfare of his daughters. They were two more mouths to feed, and in their teens they would prove to be of little use to him, for his wife should never allow them to work. Otherwise they could have raked in a tidy profit as bar girls or cabaret dancers, or some such thing. But with the way his wife babied and coddled them, they should never be fit for work. Gavroche might, if he lived long enough. But nobody cared for Cosette, and with Fantine gone, they would meet with no objections about their treatment of the girl! Once she was old enough, she could be put to real use. She was homely, to be sure, but Parisian men cared little about the condition of their women, so long as they could have one in their bed at all. The thought of such an enterprise thrilled Thénardier, and in time he would prove to his wife that such an exchange was indeed worthwhile.

"It’s settled then," he announced. "Get Eponine dressed. ‘Zelma, too, just to be safe. I’ll go back out and give him the story."

The strange man still waited there in his yellow coat, and Cosette still sat dumbly beneath the table.

"M’sieur!" Thénardier greeted the stranger with renewed warmth. "I have discussed the matter with my wife, and we have decided we can let darling Cosette go, but for no less than the agreed fifteen hundred."

The strange man shrugged. "Of course."

Thénardier stroked his chin thoughtfully. "There is something, else, though…"

"What is that?"

"The girl’s sister."

"Fantine never said anything about another child," was the dubious reply.

The innkeeper affected a sigh. "It was a great embarrassment to Fantine. She tried desperately to keep her second daughter from us, after we had gone to such pains to ensure that her dear Cosette was well kept. But when she fell behind in her payments, eventually she had to admit that there was another child." Thénardier lowered his voice to a whisper. "From another gentleman, we believe. They are dear girls, though, and we treat them like our own, regardless of their history."

A very queer look had formed on the stranger’s face –thoughtful, to be sure, but thoroughly unconvinced. This must be amended, Thénardier decided.

"M’sieur, is something the matter?"

Before the gentleman could answer, the wife appeared, her two children in tow. The beast of a woman had moist eyes, and her face was a picture of misery, which did little to enhance her features.

"Ah! Here they are now, M’sieur!" Thénardier exclaimed. "Little Cosette and Azelma."

The taller of the two girls looked distressed. "My name is Eponine!" She squawked.

Thénardier laughed. "Indeed it is! The girl’s Christian name, you see, is Eponine. Cosette is a funny little pet name her mother gave her."

If the stranger had been questioning before, he was wholly unconvinced now. "Fantine told me her true name was Euphrasie."

Here again, the innkeeper showed brilliant evidence of his cunning brain. "The poor woman," he lamented. "Euphrasie is the younger one. Somehow her mother made ‘Azelma’ out of it. Her mind must have grown hazy in her final days. Though, in truth, giving your children two names each should muddle even the clearest of heads." Thénardier emitted a hacking sound, then, which might have been a laugh.

The stranger looked around, then, eyeing the wretched little figure beneath the table.

"If those two are Cosette and Euphrasie," he queried, "who is that?"

"That is our daughter…" Here Thénardier fell silent, as it occurred to him that the real Cosette was now without a name.

"Gulnare!" The wife cut in smoothly. "Her name is Gulnare."

"Forgive my confusion, but why is it that Fantine’s children are so prettily dressed in ribbons and lace, and your own child is clad in rags and playing beneath a table?"

"The child, you see, was born an imbecile," Thénardier explained. "She barely talks or eats –you see how thin she is!- and she doesn’t play with the other girls. For some reason, though –which is quite beyond me- nothing delights her more than to play at being a serving maid. She dresses herself in cast-off clothing and rubs herself black with dust from the fireplace, and she is a regular little Cinderella! She quite prefers brooms to dolls and fetching water to playing house. Never in my days have I seen anything like it!" And the innkeeper laughed heartily, as though in admiration of the child’s cleverness.

"We buy her every quantity of pretties to wear, but it’s no use, as she only gets them black and sooty again!" The wife added.

A wan smile crossed the stranger’s face then, and he nodded.

Expertly, Thénardier observed this change in countenance, and leapt upon it. "Now, M’sieur. There is the matter of payment. We did agree on 1,500 for Ep –ah- Cosette. I would not ask such a great sum, you know, but the child is like my own, and I must be sure that she is going to a good home. Now, since you wish to take her sister as well –oh! you do agree to take her sister, do you not?"

"I would not think of separating them."

"I admire your compassion," Thénardier lauded. "However, in light of this fact, I feel compelled to ask a further twelve hundred francs of you."

The stranger was silent. He did not protest, nor make any indication of displeasure. Instead he produced his billfold, and placed another twelve hundred francs on the table.

Thénardier’s eyes glittered at the sight of the money laid out before him. He turned on the stranger a smile that might been benevolent, had it not been so colored by greed.

Thus, the fee was set and paid, the two sisters were handed over with a valise each, and the mother –at one point- retreated into the kitchen, to give vent to her grief by banging pots and pans about.

It was difficult to say who suffered more in this exchange: the Thénardiess, who was still under the impression that she would see her daughters again; Eponine and Azelma, who cried like a gale and protested violently; or the stranger, Valjean, who was very much unsettled, and could only leave the inn with an unexplainable feeling that something was wrong.

To be certain, though, it was the little wretch left beneath the table, hugging her legs, and repeating in a whisper that which she had been unable to say aloud: "My name’s not Gulnare."

~*~

Forward