Bahorel has so many splendid possibilities. I should finish his chapter of Picture Portrait.

Fantine watches out her window, stitching shirts, pricking her fingers. She's pricked them often. She doesn't feel it now, she goes on stitching. Suddenly there's a flash of bright colour in the street, and her heart stops. Colour in this grey place! "What's that?" she manages, to the other woman who shares her room, just for a few days, because it's cheapest. "Just a girl," the woman says. "Pretty little thing. Won't last." "She's beautiful," Fantine says finally. Colour in this grey place!