Chapter Text
Paris 1823
One day, a little orphan had grabbed the fabric of Valjean’s sleeve, without knowing who Valjean was or where he was from.
Just trust. Plain innocent trust. But that had been enough.
Valjean had he had been waiting for Cosette, Eponine, and Azelma to each choose a new doll from the shop window. And the gentle little tug on his sleeve had startled him at first. But how could Jean Valjean tell the boy to leave when the child had looked at him in a fright, apologizing for touching Monsieur and that he did not mean to sully Monsieur’s coat.
Valjean had taken one look at the boy’s broken, worried expression (as if Valjean was going to beat him, perish the thought!) and felt his heart constrict. Offering him one of the peaches he had procured at the market in the Rue Montorgueil, Valjean just told him: “Peace child, and eat. No harm has been done. All is well.”
So as he ate, the boy stood beside him, clinging tightly to the fabric at the back of Valjean’s knees. The slight, innocent tugs Valjean felt could have just as well been at his heartstrings.
And that was that.
The three girls had gotten a little brother. His name was Jean-Louis.
It was soon clear that the Gorbeau house would be too small for the five of them. But, as luck would have it, Valjean had set his sights on an old townhouse.
It was a charming 17th century house located in the centre of the city. But a short walk from Place de l’Alma.
The property had a good view of the Jardins de Chaillot. A beautiful fireplace adorned the living room with a noble parquet floor. It was quiet, clear and in perfect condition with 2 cellars, and high ceilings. The hallway alone was very wide, bordering on a vast reception room, a library, and several bedrooms and a kitchen.
It even yielded a garden.
Granted, it made Valjean feel very uneasy to be surrounded by such opulence, but the children seemed to swell with happiness as they ran up and down the rooms, and chased each other across the garden.
Then Cosette, with a carefully hopeful look in her eyes, took his hand, guided him to one of the bedrooms, and asked, timidly, if this could be her room, and would it be possible for there to be flowers by her window?
And Valjean knew at that moment he would buy the house. And he would force himself to live here: so long as it put that smile on her face.
The fact that it held far too many bedrooms for the five of them— well, a small idea had been forming in the back of his head.