It's so very on the mark, and said so casually without any to-do or sighing over it, that Eponine blinks, feeling unsettled, as though he must have read her mind or as though she's revealed too much about her quiet wishes. But she doesn't think she has. It's simply that Marcus doesn't see a problem with it. She nods. "I'll be all right," she says carefully, not wanting to appear too anxious to take advantage of his kindness, "but every once in a while, that might be nice. Just a little break, if the staff is all right with it, so you can keep an eye on this place. And so I can," she adds, liking the idea that she has a job of some import.

She shrugs and starts to braid part of her hair away from her face, for want of something to do with nervous hands. "We didn't have the rent, always," she says bluntly, dispassionately "so time was we'd sleep where we might. Especially starting out, we didn't know well enough where to look for a bit of assistance. Azelma - my sister - and I, we'd stay under the bridges when it got cold. Keeps the snow off, you see, but that chill and a few nights hungry and the shadows can look eerie on the river. If I ever get too frightened, I can just say to myself, Ponine, you've thought you might die or go mad, and you haven't done either, so there."

Yet. In Paris, she's dead, she knows, but she doesn't have to go home, yet.