He did not have to strain to recall Eponine anymore, her face and figure were forever etched into his mind after their ordeal in the sinking ship. She'd been so small, so frightened. It made him nearly sick to think about how she'd clung to him as the cold water lapped at them, higher and higher until it overtook them both and they'd slipped down into darkness. How horrible to remember.

And there she was again before him, still skittish, still afraid, still looking as though she thought him capable of harming her. Really? After all they'd been through? Was he still an object of fear? He didn't even consider that he might seem fearsome with his gritted teeth and the look of pain in his face. While he didn't look sick, there would be no mistaking that he was injured, from how he seemed to wince with every slight little motion.

"Yes, it has, miss." He'd really called her mademoiselle. He longed to speak French to her, to have some sense of familiarity with someone from home. How unjust it was to hear the ugly word miss pass his lips. "Come here, my dear. Come closer, please. I cannot stand to greet you, otherwise I would, but I do wish to exchange pleasantries. Are you quite alright, my dear Eponine? You look a fright. Come, you must tell me what is the matter, and if it is in my power, I shall help you to right it."