She doesn't know how long it is. Long enough to get ahold of herself a little; long enough for some comfort. Long enough to begin to feel as if she can talk to the doctor again, and then to feel that she needs to. She needs to thank him, and she needs to know more, and she needs to be an adult now; she needs to be Madame Pontmercy, not huddle like a frightened child. No matter how much she's felt like a frightened child ever since Javert showed up on their doorstep with his horrible news.

She draws away at last. She gives her husband a watery, brave smile, and then she fumbles out a handkerchief and dries her face as best she can. She must look a mess, and that strikes her in her vanity, but there's nothing to be done right now.

"My darling," she says. "I must beg your forgiveness for how little I've explained. I've been wanting to tell you all about Milliways, it's only -- only I couldn't think how to begin."

"And you, M. Joly--" She turns now, raising her voice, and finds a smile from somewhere, and a deep curtsey. "I can never thank you enough for the help you've given my dear father."