Courfeyrac awoke the next morning to the sound of singing. The voice was quiet, the tune mournful, the words foreign. He listened for a few minutes before rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

The song stopped immediately. "Good morning!" she called cheerily. His bed was neatly made, and the child sat on the edge of it, sewing one of the many rips in her skirt. Her face was wrinkled with concentration, and for a moment, he thought that she reminded him of his little sister. She didn't look anything like his sister, apart from her hair color, and he wasn't entirely certain that that was color and not mud.

"Well, what shall I do now?" he murmured. He ran his fingers through his hair, and watched with a pang of guilt as her face saddened. She bit the thread off and began to dress, quietly. "I guess we could go get breakfast, and talk things over there."

Ten minutes later, the two were on the street, walking toward Corinthe. Courfeyrac had doubts about taking a little girl to a wineshop, but it was the cheapest place that he knew of where they could get breakfast, and the staff were unlikely to do much more than raise an eyebrow at his guest.

"So, ma petite, why was this brigand chasing you last evening?" he began, glancing down at the little shawl-covered head.

"I saw him! He murdered. And he saw me saw him. He stabbed the fat man, and took his purse, and then he saw me and chased!" She grabbed for his hand nervously and squeezed. "He'll see me again, and he'll kill me--"

"No, he won't. I won't let him. Now, are you so sure he'll recognize you again? There must be an awful lot of ragged little girls in Paris."

Valeska shook her head. "None that look like me, none that wear a czapka." At his puzzled look, she pointed to her embroided shawl. He'd never seen anything like it before, except in books about the Slavic countries. "He'll find me when I'm sleeping. Maybe not soon, but someday, he'll walk by and see me."

"Where do you usually sleep? Bridges, doorways, that sort?"

"Sometimes I find nicer places." She stopped suddenly in front of a baker's shop, ogling a stack of pastries in the window. "You're going to really buy me breakfast, Monsieur Courfeyrac?"

"Of course I am. I buy myself breakfast all the time, why not you, too?" His words made no sense, but they made the little girl laugh, and he laughed with her. She had that sort of laugh.

The arrived at their destination, and Courfeyrac led her up the stairs, cautiously. To his chagrin, one of his friends was breakfasting there today, as well. Nervously, he led the child to his table under the window, with the only other occupant of the room.

"Good morning, Capital R," he said nonchalantly, holding a chair for Valeska. "How are you?"

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, and glanced at his bottle. "Oh, so it is wine. I suppose I'm not seeing things? Or rather, I am seeing things, specifically, little girls in the company of Courfeyrac. This is an interesting surprise. Mademoiselle, didn't your mother tell you to keep away from students? 'Specially the law ones. They're always trouble." Puzzled at the girl's suddenly sad face, he looked to Courfeyrac. "Explanation, my good friend?"

"Can't I take a lady to breakfast without your infernal interrogations? And you complain about the lawyers! Mademoiselle Valeska is my guest today. No harassing her." He seated himself across from her, and grinned at Grantaire. "It's alright, Valeska. He's nice enough, even if a bit loud."

Fricasse brought out a basket of bread and cups of coffee, but she paused when she saw the size of the other newcomer. "Milk, maybe?" she asked Courfeyrac.

"Probably a good idea," he agreed. "Make her bones straight and her hair curly, right?"

"Pity if it worked in reverse," Grantaire murmured, taking another swig of wine. This got another giggle out of Valeska, even as she was stuffing bread into her mouth.

"Don't they feed you where you come from?" he asked, glancing cautiously at Courfeyrac. "Or am I allowed to ask that? Just let me know if you feel harrassed... Valeska, is it? Where did your mother find that name?" She stared at him with those mournful brown eyes, until he glanced away.

"My Maman's dead. So I don't get food anymore. And I'm Polish. Valeska is a Polish name." She resumed eating her piece of bread rapidly. Grantaire just exchanged a look with Courfeyrac, and both went back to their drinks.

Fricasse soon came back with Valeska's glass of milk, and took their orders for fried ham and eggs, the special. She glanced hopefully at Grantaire, but he merely tapped his half-full bottle. "That's all the breakfast I need, my dear." She rolled her eyes as she walked away, and Grantaire grinned.

"Is she your sweetheart?" Valeska whispered.

"Oh, they all are," Grantaire answered. Courfeyrac shot him a nasty look. Valeska giggled again.

"Don't any of 'em get angry?" She sipped at her milk cautiously at first, then gulped it.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "It's a complicated matter, my dear girl. Some women get very angry, and some don't care at all. It's safer just to make sure that none of them find out. But your friend there is much more the expert at that than I."

"Wine-cask, for goodness' sake. She's a child," Courfeyrac interrupted. "Must you corrupt her?"

"Corrupt her? Hah! I'm educating her, can't you see that? The sooner she learns, the better. Mark my words, Mademoiselle, and don't ever let a man fool you thusly. Unless he's a fool, and then be rid of him. Of course, if you go on like that for too long, you'll find yourself a lonely old woman, because all men are fools." Grantaire glanced over and saw that the child was watching him, wide-eyed and apparantly interested. "That makes me a fool, too, so you'd probably better not listen to me, like 'Feyrac says. Better to listen to the priests and the king like a good little girl, eh?" He rubbed his temple thoughtfully. "Say, what's a Polish girl doing in France, anyway?"

"Looking for my Papa," she answered. "I'm only half Polish. My Papa is French." She reached for another piece of bread and began chewing on it thoughtfully. "I don' think I'm going to find him, though," she mumbled around the mouthful of bread.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire exchanged a troubled look over her head. "Eh, don't give up hope yet. But.. er. Is there anyone else who might take care of you? You know, just until he turns up?"

The child shook her head. "I haven't got no one in the world but my Papa. And I don't got him, either." A tear dripped onto the piece of bread in her hand.

"There, there," said Courfeyrac nervously, patting her on the shoulder. "Don't cry. We'll give you a hand. Won't we, Wine-cask?" Grantaire raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Courfeyrac frowned at him. "After all, we're not about to leave a lady in distress."

"Perish the thought! Saddle up the steeds, faithful squire, and we'll go slay that dragon." Grantaire punctuated this with a yawn. "Fricasse!" he boomed suddenly. "My glass grows dry! I despise coffee; never trust a beverage that tries to wake you up." The waitress strolled leisurely from the kitchen with a bottle and placed it in front of Grantaire. She had long ago learned that there was no need to hurry in serving him; he never had anywhere to go.

"Much better," he sighed. "Now, child. Tell us about your Papa. When's the last time you saw him?"

"Never," she squeaked. "I just came from Poland not very long ago. When I was six."

"I gather, then, that your mother had been here before," Grantaire said drily.

"Was he a soldier?" Courfeyrac interrupted. "Far too late for one of Bonaparte's... still, he could have been wounded, stayed behind. Or perhaps a merchant travelling?"

"No, no." Valeska shook her head. "He never been to Poland. He was here. Maman was here. Then she came back to Poland. And got me. Maman had just come to paint, but then she didn't want to paint anymore." Courfeyrac nodded, smiling ruefully. The poor girl returned to her family, pregnant, from a foreign land.

"Well, what did she tell you about him?" Courfeyrac pressed.

"He was a student. And he was dark and handsome and smart and very funny. He had lots of money, and he liked her paintings." Valeska shrugged. "That's all."

"No name?" Grantaire asked.

"Oh!" Valeska giggled. "I forgot -- Monsieur Remi Grantaire."

It took a moment for the words to begin to make sense to Grantaire. "R-Remi Grantaire? That's what your mother sa-- aha!" He glanced sharply to Courfeyrac. "Did you think old Grand-R was drunk enough to fall for such a trick? How much did he pay you for this joke, cherie? I'll give you double it, because you are a marvelous actress. Actress gamine, actress gamine... bah, it'll come to me." He started patting his waistcoat pockets.

Courfeyrac blinked in surprise. "I-- no, no, Grantaire, I didn't! I swear, I didn't even think to ask her. She said her name was Stelmaczyk, before." He shook his head and looked down at the little girl, who was beginning to cry again. "Aw, Valeska. there, there. We'll sort this out."

Grantaire's hands froze in his pockets. "Stelmaczyk, is it? Well dammit. I might have.. yes. I suppose I did." He chuckled darkly. "What next, will the wine bottles jump out and demand I fill them back up with blood?" he asked the tabletop, resting his forehead in his cupped hands.

Valeska stared at him, her brown eyes huge and frightened. "Is that really your name, Monsieur?" she whispered. She looked pleadingly at Courfeyrac, as if he could fix things somehow.

"Um, Wine-ca-- er, Grantaire?" Courfeyrac began uncomfortably. "Sure you don't have a cousin by the same name or something of the sort?"

Grantaire raised his head. "One who also bed- er, befriended Mamselle Jolanta Stelmaczyk of Warsaw, Poland, a couple years ago? --How old did you say you were, Gamine? Dammed if you don't look like Corinne and everything. Under the dirt, of course. This, my friend, must be what Zeus felt like when his daughter sprung out fully grown. Fortunately, you didn't give me quite as much of a headache."

"Seven. Just turned seven," Valeska murmured, holding up the appropriate number of grimy didgets.

The kitchen door banged open, and Fricassee came through, balancing three plates of eggs and ham in her hands. She set one down in front of each of them silently, waiting for the heckling from Grantaire that never came. She quirked an eyebrow at him, then trudged back to the kitchen.

Grantaire sighed as the door shut again. "And you just picked her up off the pavement, Courfeyrac?"

"Well, yes. Last night. Brought her back to my room, let her sleep in my bed even. There was this--"

Grantaire burst into laughter. "Poor Chandler! Anything to say --" He glanced to the child and just shook his head, continuing to laugh.

"Hush, R! You have to hear this; she needed my help. She witnessed a murder last night, apparantly," Courfeyrac hissed. Grantaire blinked in astonishment.

"Is that right? Well, what happened, Petite?" He rubbed his temple while Valeska recounted the tale of the previous evening's excitement. "Well, that's easy enough," he concluded. "We'll just clean you up and dress you like a French child, and he'll never even think it's you. As for what to do with you after that. . ." He shook his head. "Well, we'll sort that out as we go along, won't we? Fricassee!" The girl popped her head out of the kitchen door, carefully setting down the glass that she'd been holding up to it behind her. "See if Madame can spare you for a bit. I need a favor."

She nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen again. A few minutes later, she reappeared sans apron, and with her bonnet. "What is it, today?" she asked tiredly. Remi's 'favors' were frequently cleaning his room, or helping him move when his landlady had decided he was too boisterous for the place. These excursions generally ended in his bed, which neither of them regretted very much.

"Oh, you'll like this one," he confided with a wink. "Mamselle here needs to be taken on a shopping excursion, and you being a woman, ought to know what all she needs. I would be most indebted-- indeed, I'll be very indebted by the end of the morning-- if you would assist us."

Fricassee frowned in confusion. "You're going to buy the child clothes?"

"Well, unless you think you could throw something together from a flour sack really quickly. Of course I'm going to buy her clothes! And shoes, and bonnets, and whatever else. You don't think I would let my child wander around ragged, do you?" He frowned. "Actually, don't answer that. But I'm not going to."

Fricassee sunk into a nearby chair, stunned. "Your-- your child? She's your child?" Her attempt at eavesdropping didn't begin until after she'd served them, so she hadn't picked up that tidbit. "Mere de Dieu."

Chandler poked at his breakfast uncomfortably. It was no secret that Grantaire had some sort of relationship with the waitress, and the poor girl looked very upset. Perhaps he'd best get out of their way and let the odd trio sort out their problems. He pulled out his purse and counted out the proper coins for three breakfasts, and piled it next to his plate, while silent negotiations went on over his head. He stood and patted Valeska on the head.

"I must now get to class, studious boy that I am. I'm sure you'll be alright now." He nodded to Grantaire and Fricassee, and departed.

"Mirabelle, please. I never knew until this hour." He took one of her wine-stained hands and gave it a quick, clumsy squeeze.

She sighed. "Alright, alright. I can hardly complain, can I?" She smiled ruefully. "Well, young lady, how did you suddenly appear out of nowhere? I'm Fricassee, but you may call me Mira, since your Papa's let the cat out of the bag. Just don't let anyone hear you calling me that." As she spoke, she knelt by Valeska's chair and scrutinized her. Valeska squirmed under that watery blue stare. Finally, Fricassee smiled at the child and extended a hand. "Let's get going. I haven't got all day. Remi, come on." Remi rolled his eyes, and ambled along behind the two, content to let the woman do the thinking for him, so that he could do the deeper thinking and sort this out.

To be continued, as usual...

-- Jeni Baron