Marius was worried. Cosette, his beloved, hadn't come to see him in several weeks. The last time that he had seen her was on her birthday three weeks ago when he had visited her in the garden, unbeknownst to Monsieur Fauchelevant.
"Cosette, ma cherie," Marius murmured, nuzzling his nose against Cosette's, "I love you so much. Happy birthday, ma petite ange." Cosette, however, seemed hesitant and pulled away from Marius' affection quickly.
Marius frowned. "What could be troubling you, mon ange?"
"Nothing, Marius, nothing at all," Cosette assured, her curly golden locks waving gently in the night air. Her pale-green eyes were cast downward almost as if she had felt shame for an unknown predicament, and her tiny hand stayed clasped to the chest of her white dressing-gown as if to protect her from a wicked spirit. "Nothing is wrong."
However, Marius did not quite believe her. "Something must be wrong," he pressed. "You seem very worried and tense, ma fleur. Pray, do tell me what is ailing you so that I may relieve you of your suffering!"
Cosette's face pinched up in frustration. "Marius! I have told you, I am fine! Leave me be! Go away!"
Marius looked like a mighty blow had been struck to him. "Fine! If that is what you so vehemently wish, Mademosielle Fauchelevant, then I shall leave!"
His beloved's face softened and grew more worried than angered now. "No, Marius, please…."
"No, Cosette!" Marius fumed. "I will leave, and I will never return!"
Cosette had shimmery tears that were making trails down her flawless skin. "Marius, please!"
Marius turned his back to Cosette, who had sunk to her knees and held a grip on her stone bench with the rose carved into the side. "And here. Take it. I find no use for it now. Goodbye, Mademoiselle," he said, throwing a small blue box to his once-beloved's feet, which she slowly picked up and held in her clammy hands.
"No, Marius, I didn't mean it like that! I love you! Come back!" Cosette sobbed into the skirt of her dressing-gown. "Come back, Marius!"
Marius, however, ignored Cosette's cries, sobs, and pleads and dashed down the streets, not daring to look back and see her open her birthday present.
"I should go to apologize," Marius muttered under his breath as he threw his jacket on and rushed out of his apartment that he had once shared with his friends. Once shared. Not since the revolution, which had left him friendless and alone. Now, he didn't even have Cosette to comfort him, and he daren't go to Grandpere Gillenormand. So going to Cosette and apologizing seemed the best option, and he missed her anyways. His life was empty without her, and he needed her to fill the empty cavern that was in his heart.
He passed by a cart that a creaky, old woman stood behind, cowering in her threadbare-red-shawl to keep out the April chill. The woman raised her head as Marius walked by, sneering at him and revealing one tooth that stuck out, paled and yellowed. The woman's cart contained yellow roses, Cosette's favorites. One franc each, a poorly-written sign above the cart said.
Marius took out the coin and put it on the cart in front of the old woman. "One rose, please, madame." Thinking again, he slapped down four more francs. "No. Five, please."
"Of course, M'sieur," the woman gritted dryly, grabbing five blossoms and wrapping them in wet, soggy newspaper. The words on the newspaper had long since been run together and were no longer readable.
"Meric, madame," Marius replied, tucking the roses away in the inside of his jacket. Later, he'd give them to Cosette to try and brighten up the mood of his apology.
Eventually, he came to the door of 55 Rue Plumet, Cosette's home. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door raptly. Marius glanced up briefly, shooting a glance at the window that he knew was Cosette's.
Please forgive me Cosette. I love you. Please. Forgive me.
The door creaked open slowly, and Marius held his breath and stood up straight. His hand hastily reached up to brush some dust off of his coat and he puffed his chest out in an attempt to look masculine to Cosette.
"HelloCosetteIcametosaythatIwasreallysorryandalsot oaskifyouwouldpleaseforgivemefor," Marius started, then blinked and shook his head as he realized that it wasn't Cosette at the door, nor was it Monsieur Fauchelevant, her father. "Wait, you're not Cosette!"
The man laughed dryly. "I'd hope not, young man."
Marius got a good look at the man that he was confronting. He had brown hair with streaks of grey that had been pulled back by a tiny black ribbon into a short ponytail. The man had brown eyes that were cold and hard, as if they were scrutinizing Marius as if Marius were the cheese and the man were the mouse. The stranger's face was not young, nor was it old….therefore, Marius reasoned, the man looked to be about 40-50 years old, too young to be anybody that Cosette would be with.
"Who are you? Can I see Cosette?" Marius asked hopefully, fingering the roses in the folds of his coat. "I need to talk to her."
"I am Astor Archambault," the man replied as he leaned on the doorway, "Cosette! Get out here!"
The shivering waif that traversed to the door was completely unlike Cosette. It could not be Cosette, Marius reasoned. Cosette had shiny, luminous hair that bounced when she laughed. This girl still had beautiful hair that smelled of strawberries, but she wasn't laughing. Cosette had sparkling, pale-green eyes that shimmered with mirth. This girl showed no mirth, and her eyes reflected a sadness and dullness that Marius couldn't quite place. Cosette didn't look afraid, like somebody was going to hit her. However, this girl did.
"Yes?" Cosette inquired quietly, rubbing her hands over each other as she faced the strange man.
Astor turned and looked at Marius with a cocky grin. "Do you know this boy, Cosette?"
Cosette looked at Marius and gasped. "Marius!"
"Ah, so you do know him! What is he to you?" Astor asked with a wicked gleam in his eye that frightened Marius and made Cosette cringe slightly.
"An….an old friend."
Astor's face twisted in disbelief. "Liar! You are lying to me, Cosette!"
"I am not!"
"Don't you raise your voice at me, you bitch!" Astor roared as he backhanded Cosette across the face. "How dare you! You are my wife!"
"YOUR WIFE?!" Marius screamed, looking at Cosette with a mixture of confused anguish and anger. "YOU'RE MARRIED? COSETTE!"
"Yes, for three weeks, since the day after my birthday," Cosette answered truthfully. "I didn't want to tell you that I was engaged, Marius!"
"Get in the house, you bitch," Astor warned, pointing back to the house. "Take care of the old man. He won't live much longer, he won't, and I'll get that hefty fortune." Cosette complied with tears running down her face, looking at Marius for what could have been the last time that she would ever do so.
"And you," he said, revolving to turn to Marius, "get away from my house and stay away from my wife. And here, I found this little thing of hers. Take it and leave."
With that, Astor Archambault tossed the tiny blue box at Marius' feet and slammed the wooden door in his stunned face. Marius leaned over and opened the box, not even daring to hope that his birthday present to her was still in it. Fortunately, it was, and Marius started to cry silently in sweet relief.
His engagement ring to her was still there.