"Does she?" Thénardier raised an eyebrow at Michel carefully, before turning to Eponine, eyebrows raised even higher still. The question was not addressed to Michel at all.

"No, father," Eponine managed to say, pulling her blankets up to shield her.

"I see, then, m'sieur- I'm afraid I did not catch your name. My name is Jondrette, and I," here he gave a little bow, taking his cap off. "Am the father of this beautiful young rose." He rose to his feet and moved to Eponine, stroking a long finger against her cheek and playing absent-mindedly with a lock of stringy hair. Eponine turned her face away from her father as much as she could.

"You must know, my dear daughter, sweet 'Ponine, there are many others wishing to court her. Some of them even doctors and lawyers." The words were sickly sweet, falsities and lies hidden behind saccharine sweetness. He said what he thought people wanted to hear, in hopes of hearing what he wanted. And what he wanted to hear was this man offering reasons as to why he should be with his daughter.

Reasons, preferably, of the monetary sorts.