It's taken a lot for Susan to give up that ribbon. There's precious little for any of them here: everything is a luxury. Eponine's quick fingers snatch it, rubbing over the silky fabric.
"What do you want for it?" she asks, curiously. "Nowt comes for free, you know? I'm not stupid. Though..." She drifts into thought for a moment. "When they hang me, I'll have 'em give it back to you. And my clothes. You might as well have 'em than me. A dead body don't need warmth, does it?"

She traces her fingers over the sign on the tunic. "A hanged man, you see? I am marked for death, though what I have done to warrant it is not for me, you know? I am all bad, but not a murderer. Not to swing." She shrugs, and ties the ribbon into the knots of her hair, dragging dark curls and matted tangles back into a messy pony tail. "What is there to be done though? But see -" She glances at the guards before lifting up the corner of her tunic. She's tucked a bread roll into her waist band. Eponine sneaks it out and breaks it in half, offering it to Susan. "We might believe we are fine ladies having a picnic, not prisoners trapped in a jail. She licks the crust of her bread, and rubs it on the floor. "See? Bread and jam, if you close your eyes."