"Who cares about words?" They'll wash in one ear and straight out of the other. Eponine's been called every name under the sun and had insults bandied at her for as long as she can remember. She really doesn't care, and honestly would be amongst the first to insult herself anyway.

"Really? Oh Nancy, I would love to be a lady." She sighs. This Nancy seems so much more hopeful than Eponine, so much more relaxed and so far away from a whore and a thief that Eponine can scarcely imagine the girl on the street. Eponine can't imagine herself. She doesn't dare to imagine herself, not now that it's a reality in front of her. Because what if it isn't? What if it's made up? What if it all comes crumbling around her and Nancy's just mean?
But there's nothing mean in Nancy's expression and nothing cruel in her words. She's not jibed at Eponine and she's not questioned. She's assumed, and she's been right, and she's been there, where Eponine had been merely hours ago, and changed.

Maybe Eponine can change too?

She lets Nancy lead her to the bathroom, clapping her hands in sheer glee when she sees the bath. Honestly, it's all so overwhelming. She can't answer about blue dresses, or Nancy sorting her clothes out. She can't let herself think of anything but the bath in front of her because that at least cannot disappear into the ether. All she can manage is, "Thank you."