Cosette takes his arm, of course. The tea and cake and basket of lint are utterly forgotten.
If she clings a little closer to his side than before -- well, perhaps it's understandable.
She searches the nearby tables with her eyes, seeking after a woman who looks like her, a woman who could be her mother, a woman who will spark recognition in her heart. Surely she'll recognize her on sight -- isn't that the way it's supposed to be, in stories of long-lost relations?
No one has a face she remembers. But there's a woman bent over sewing with a dress from ten years ago and a careworn face that looks just a little like a wearier relation of the face Cosette sees in her little mirror. Surely she's too young. Surely she's Cosette's mother. Surely--
no subject
If she clings a little closer to his side than before -- well, perhaps it's understandable.
She searches the nearby tables with her eyes, seeking after a woman who looks like her, a woman who could be her mother, a woman who will spark recognition in her heart. Surely she'll recognize her on sight -- isn't that the way it's supposed to be, in stories of long-lost relations?
No one has a face she remembers. But there's a woman bent over sewing with a dress from ten years ago and a careworn face that looks just a little like a wearier relation of the face Cosette sees in her little mirror. Surely she's too young. Surely she's Cosette's mother. Surely--