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"Jeanne." Her brother's smile is broken. Both by the split lip he currently faired and the shakiness of it all.
"Hello, Jean." The local prison is Cold. Old stone, and there was no fireplace or oven back here in the sad cells. Not like the guards would care about them here. She supposed this was probably nicer than where her brother would go after his sentencing.
He stands up, coming up to the bars. His right hand is bandaged poorly. Old blood stains making the fabric stiff. Her knowledge of treating wounds is not extensive but she knows she could do it better. Her brother had come home from work with many an accident before.
"I imagine that'll scare badly with the way it's wrapped." She says with a stiff nod to it.
Jean barely throws a glance at it, "Yes, I am sure broken glass will give me a lovely new set of them." He shakes his head, "Are the children ok?"
Of course his concern would come through. That was his strongest trait. His compassion.
"Well. For now, but they won't be for much longer after what you did. What do you think we will do after there is no longer anyone to work for money? We will starve, Jean." She doesn't mention how they cried for their uncle. She wonders if they love him more than her. Perhaps a silly thought. But it is a thought nonetheless.
His eyes widen with a deep hurt, "Dear sister, we are Already starving. If I didn't try...I could not let the children die."
"We will die anyway, now. I am but a woman, and Lord knows there is never any well paying job for a woman." Except perhaps, selling her body to the streets. The thought is disgusting, that anyone else would touch her besides her dearly departed husband. No. That isn't an option. She'd rather die than be violated in that way."
He is silent then. He sticks his good hand through the gaps of the bars, and Jeanne grabs it. She hates him for this. But she loves him still. She is his sister. She knows she's never treated him as well as she should. But she loves him.
"This may be the last time we see each other. You know." She says softly.
A harsh sob emerges barely from her brother. He is trying so hard to not break in front of her. She remains stoic. She has no energy for sobs.
"I'm surprised you- you came to see me at all. Or that they let you see me."
"...Luckily the good monseigneur you tried to steal from vouched for me to see you."
"The bastard."
"It's not his fault Jean."
"...I know. I apologize for my harshness."
"Jean..." Her voice trails off. There are so many things she should say. But most of them she can't. Any thought that dares try and escape gets trapped in her throat. So instead she just says. "Goodbye."
His eyes water, his breath shaky, "Sounds so final, dear sister."
"I have a feeling it is." She says. There's a hunger gnawing in the pit of her stomach. She is an adult. She may yet survive. Her children would probably suffer a different date, "At least, in prison, they will feed you."
Her brother shakes his head, "Jeanne..."
She steps away, unclasping her hand from his. It grows cold far too quickly. She remembers when they were Young. When they would hold hands when walking home. They are no longer that anymore.
"Jeanne please-"
She turns away from him. And she begins to leave. He still calls out to her. To his sister.
But in that moment Jeanne Valjean disregards her brother.
It's what she has to do to survive. Best not to acknowledge him from now on.
It hurts.
More than it should.
But it's what has to be done.
Jean Valjean had a sister, once.