Three people changed my life.

Cosette was the first. Here was the second.

His eyes were black, like hot coals, and they looked far, far older than the rest of him, like they’d seen many troubles. But they were kind eyes too. And I felt safe, for the first time in my life, just looking at him. Isn’t it strange? I didn’t know him at all and yet I trusted him.

I felt like kneeling down in front of him and saying, Sorry for all the bad things I’ve done. For stealing from Blind Roland and all the other things.

*  *  *

But then he looked away from me, toward Cosette. She was crouching on the floor under the table, trying to darn our stockings with a needle and thread—but she shivered too much to do it. He smiled very tenderly at her.

“Well?” Maman pushed me. “Don’t just stand there like a fool! Go and get his money!”

But I couldn’t really speak or move. I definitely couldn’t steal from a man with such eyes.

“Go on!”

Still, I didn’t move. Maman didn’t like this at all and muttered, “Eponine … ?” She raised her hand to hit me.

“Look! Look!” I cried out. “Over there! See? Cosette has got Azelma’s doll!”

Maman spun round and shrieked. Cosette had put down the sewing and was cradling Azelma’s small rag doll, singing to it like she’d sung to Gavroche.

“That,” roared Maman, “is not your doll!”

The whole room fell silent.

Cosette trembled. Azelma charged across the room and tore the doll away, shouting, “Get away from her! She is mine, not yours!” She yanked Cosette’s hair and Cosette wailed.

There was clattering and screaming and the table was knocked over and suddenly he was standing there, the yellow-coated man.

“Enough.” He didn’t say it angrily. “Does it matter so much,” he asked, “if she should play with the doll?”

“It does!” said Maman. “She’s meant to be sewing, not playing! And the doll is not hers, Monsieur—it is my youngest daughter’s and that urchin touched it with her grubby hands …”

“But she’s a child, Madame. She must be allowed to play.”

“Play? Not her! She’s a worker! She must work! She must darn my daughters’ stockings. See how pretty my girls are?”

He stared at Maman for a moment. Then the stranger picked up his hat, put it on his head, and walked out into the snow.

*  *  *

The room hummed. Did you see that … ? Who was he? Papa smoked, scowled.

When the yellow-coated man came back he was carrying a large parcel, wrapped in brown paper.

“A gift?” asked my mother. “Is this an apology? For your interference in my family’s affairs? I accept it, and forgive you …” She held out her arms.

“It isn’t for you. I’ve nothing to apologize for, Madame.” He knelt down to Cosette. “It’s for you, little one.”

Her eyes widened. “For me?”

“Yes. It’s a gift. Open it.”

Slowly Cosette peeled the paper back …

Azelma shrieked. “No! No! Maman, look! It’s the doll from the stall! With the porcelain face! No, she can’t have it! I want it! I do!” She stamped her foot and roared with rage.

“It’s Cosette’s,” said the man. “And the doll is not the only thing that I will be buying tonight.”

Maman folded her arms. “There’s more? Ale? Food? A bed? Are you buying the whole of Montfermeil as a present for that brat?”

“I’ll be spending the night here, yes. And tomorrow, I shall be buying that brat, as you call her.”

“What?”

“I’ll buy the child—Cosette is her name, I believe?—and I’ll take her to a better life. It was her dying mother’s wish that I do so; she asked me to raise the child as my own, as if I were her father. I have a letter from poor Fantine, saying so.” He held up a piece of paper. “And so tonight is the last night she’ll spend in this”—he looked around—“soulless place.”

I thought, Buying her?

Papa stepped forward, took his pipe from his mouth. “Might I ask for the pleasure of your name, Monsieur?”

“Jean Valjean. Now please show me to my room.”

*  *  *

I’d never seen my parents look so shocked before or for the drinkers to leave in silence, one by one. Azelma cried herself to sleep. When Gavroche woke, I cleaned him and sang a lullaby until he was sleeping too. But I couldn’t sleep. I sat upon the window seat and watched the snow come down.

He was buying her. Taking her away to a better life, he’d said. Now I knew the pebble in my heart was envy. I was just a thief in a village with mean-hearted parents, but Cosette’s whole world was changing.

Then I heard a sound.

It was the creak of floorboards. Someone is on the stairs.

I padded to my door and peeped out. Jean Valjean was crouching by the fire where we’d left our shoes for a Christmas coin.

A third shoe was there. It was a small, splintered wooden clog and he lifted this clog, placed something in it. Then, like a breath of air, he slipped back into the night.

I could see it from here. It was a Louis d’or—a gold coin, worth twenty francs or more. They were so rare that I’d never seen one before. It glinted in the darkness like a star.

Take it, I thought. Steal it. Give it to Maman and she’ll love you and praise you forever and ever. And I nearly did. But it wasn’t my coin. It was Cosette’s.