Of course, he couldn't. Men never seemed to pause to think nor think to ask what it was like to be a woman. For Cosette, it meant spending a great deal of time quite alone, waiting for the men in her life who came and went as they pleased.
The awareness that some young women were able to move more freely on account of their class or because they had husbands, mothers, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, or even friends their age hung somewhere on the fringes of her consciousness.
Cosette used to have friends, back in the convent. Even an uncle. Beyond its walls, her world had at once grown and shrunken.
Her family and her circle of friends were composed of the same three people: Father, Toussaint, and Marius. And now, perhaps, Javert. Though to what extent and for how long was no more in her hands than his introduction to her life and home had been.
For all their obvious differences, Cosette suspected Javert and she might have more in common than immediately apparent.
"Thank you," she replied, her voice soft and painfully sincere, choosing to focus on his concession, which felt significant, rather than the equally significant reservations with which it came.
His bluntness made her laugh. "No?" She should not have thought herself so very mysterious. Certainly not in comparison to Javert, or her father. "Well, I hope you will find my company agreeable. Father can attest to the fact that I am not so easily shaken off."
Cosette seemed unconvinced by what she interpreted as grace. "You shouldn't have had to ask," she reassured him. "It's common sense that you would require certain... necessaries. Is there anything else you have wanted for?"
Their journey to the small dressing table in her chamber was a short one. Much in the same manner as the rest of the apartment, the room was furnished with all the essentials but little more than that.
Comb and brush lay at the ready. Cosette gestured for Javert to sit. "Please."
