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Disclaimer: "Les Misérables is the work of Victor Hugo. PG rating just in case. That being said, please enjoy.
The growing light of sunrise that day only served to reveal to him the human
form lying still on the cobblestones, the dark trail of blood.
He fought back his nausea and wished for the night that would have spared him
this glimpse of death.
He had to turn away, had to acknowledge that he was not meant for this. Not
meant to be here.
But then, who among us is, really?
At that moment, in the absolute silence of what had become their battlefield, he
heard it.
Gasping. Someone struggling for
breath.
He hurried forward to the body, gently turned it over.
"Pardine."
he breathed.
The boy was so young, so young. And the wounds - what he saw of them- so severe
that he was positive his imagination had been playing tricks.
Until the boy's eyes fluttered open. After gazing briefly around, they alighted
on him. Those eyes compelled him to
say what he said next.
"It's all right. It's all right. I'll take care of you."
A half smile that told him volumes, about loss and suffering, abandonment and
fear, and then the boy slipped back into unconsciousness. He took the thin, icy
wrist to check for a pulse - it was weak and unsteady, but it was there. The
ragged breathing continued.
His mind raced. Could he move the teenager without killing him? How was he to
get past the soldiers stationed at almost every possible point of egress? He
forced himself back to what needed his most urgent attention, using what
knowledge he had from accidents at his job to tend to the injured youth
That
was when the first shots rang out. The National Guard had begun their attack.
We're trapped doomed they'll see us and -
oh God oh God what am I going to do?
Then the guns got louder, and he could hear voices, yelling, rallying.
They were close.
It only took a second for him to make his decision.
He looked over at the young man, taller than his rescuer buy a few inches. He
lifted himand found that his weight barely challenged
the muscles honed by factory work. In his arms, the boy felt almost as if he
wasn't there at all. He paused to orient himself, to figure out his best
possible route.
Then, Joseph Caron ran. And he prayed.
*******
The raging conflict only blocks away sounding
in her ears, she pressed forward, not expecting to see anyone - hoping not to.
Her mouth went dry then when the man emerged from the doorway.
"Please, Mademoiselle, your help. I need your help."
She
saw the blood on his clothing. It took her a moment to realize that it was not
his, to see the figure laid gently on the ground.
Her large blue eyes widened. She stood frozen as she debated within herself.
She could accomplish nothing more here. She chided herself for her foolishness,
in taking this dangerous risk, in believing that she could answers about the
fate of the two people dearest to her.
She indicated her choice with a single, word, spoken clearly, decisively.
"Come."
Her carriage was waiting in the next street. The wounded boy didn't stir as he
was laid in.
She studied him. There was something familiar-
She shook her head to clear it, and climbed gracefully, with a hand from her
companion, to the driver's box.
*******
"She's been asking for you - for you in
particular Mademoiselle. I would advise against it, against any excitement, but
she was so agitated that - "
"How - how is she now?"
This was the second time that day the doctor had looked in, at the request of
her father.
From his expression, the lips pressed in to a thin line, she knew the news was
no more encouraging than it had been before.
"We still must wait and see." He responded gently. "She might
well survive."
But most likely not his tone said. There is nothing more we can do.
"And she is lucky to have found such benefactors."
She nodded once,
"Thank you Monsieur"
She rose gracefully, and walked down to the hall to the room set aside for
their visitor.
Chestnut hair, loose and long fanned out on the pillow. Her complexion was still
an unhealthy grey. She wore the nightdress they had
found for her.
The
reader will probably already have guessed that this was the person that Caron
the worker had borne to safety two days before.
She turned her head when she heard someone enter. Her eyes burning, she fixed
the other young woman with her regard.
Her voice was weak, but clear.
"I
thought it was you"
Her laugh was short, bitter, but not cruelly so.
"It is funny, being here, owing my life to you after– I knew you see. When you came with your father, I knew."
She
trailed off.
"You
don't recognize me."
"Of course I do. Of course," She protested, not understanding.
The other girl studied her from the bed.
"I suppose you wouldn't exactly be eager to remember. But surely you must recall something. She can't be completely gone, L'Alouette."
Cosette was shaken to the depths of her soul.
For a long while she couldn't speak. Finally she uttered a single word, a name.
It came out barely a whisper.
"Ponine."
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