Eponine tries to smile, but it's tight, brief. It's more of a grimace than anything, really. She understands little of what Joscelin tells her: something to do with the church. Eponine knows nothing about the church: her parents hadn't bothered when she was little, and by the time she was older, she had no shoes. She wasn't allowed in unless she borrowed her father's - and he leant them only when he wanted her to beg money.
"So you are holier than thou? Ha - then I must mind my manners, such as what I have. My Pa had an inn when I were little, but we move to Paris, and it is how it is, ain't it?" She shrugs.

His grin catches her attention, and though her face remains expressionless, a flicker of familiarity makes her remember Montparnasse.
"I weren't alive then. I were born just after, but my Pa, he fought in a battle there. To me, no, I do not like the guillotine. Guillotine or hanging though? I do not know if I should want to hang. I always thought it might be my end, or that I should freeze or starve. Perhaps the guillotine is at least quick."

She doesn't suppose she'll ever find out now though either. Now, death will be through a stake to her heart. She hopes it's as quick as a beheading.