Eponine took an age in the bathroom. Nancy could probably hear her childish shrieks of joy when she steps into the warm water. She could probably hear Eponine babbling in French as she tries to work out what shampoo is and how to get her fingers through the matts in her hair. She might have heard the slop of the water from the over-filled bath. She'll definitely see the wet floor and she might find the bottle of bubbles, half empty, hidden under the pile of towels by a sheepish Eponine who got far too carried away.

When she's eventually done, Eponine wraps herself in a big, warm, fluffy towel with a sigh. She has never felt so clean. She'd scrubbed herself in the bath, until the water she was sat in was black with a decade's worth of grime. She'd scrubbed under her broken finger nails and on the soles of her feet until she felt almost shiny and new. She knows she smells better.
After it all now, if she closes her eyes, she can imagine herself a fine lady.
The reality that she'll have to put the rags back on at least to face Nancy almost hurts. She can't bear the thought of the filthy things touching her nice clean, new skin.
So she calls out,
"Nancy? Do you care I am in just a sheet? Or will I put on the chemise again?"