Enjolras never fancied himself as someone qualified to give a medical opinion, but the young man had eyes. His skills would never be as honed as Joly's or Combeferre's, ever, but it wouldn't take a student of medicine to see that the child currently occupying his favourite chair was in dire need of attention. All sorts of it, by the sound of things, too. Not all of her ailments could be solved by a bandage or a hot meal.

"The money is not what you need, then," he spoke up, folding one arm across his chest and bringing the other up, so he could tap his lip while he thought. "I could give it to you," he repeated, "but what good would it do your family, only to have it taken from them? This man, your father's employer, here is where your trouble lies. He is the problem, is he not?"