True enough, if this employer the girl spoke of was any kind of honourable. But Enjolras could already guess what kind of a man he was. "Perhaps," he conceded, only just. "But perhaps not. A monster who exploits a destitute family's desperation is not the sort to be satisfied in one lump sum, no matter what this debt he believes your father owes him amounts to."

So, he assured her, "I do wish to help you, mademoiselle. And all in your position. For as many who are familiar with your plight, on the streets of Paris, there are equally as many who would prey on you." He dropped the hand that been at his mouth, and tapped, idly, against a desk drawer. Would have to pull it open, eventually, and retrieve what he would need for his dinner, tonight, at the cafe (supposing his inevitable excitement would allow him to eat), but hesitated. "There will be a day when this is no longer the case. There are nearly as many who wish to help." Enough who would rally, at least.

But did that help the girl, in his room, at the moment? No, he had to admit. "In the meantime, I suppose I could buy your supper, this evening." A small gesture, but he could no more eliminate her father's debt than, seemingly, her family could. And should he be successful, what next? One, in a sea of thousands, solved nothing.