Author's Note
Hi. This was written with HaliaeetusLeucocephalus. It's probably a bit too long an not all that interesting yet, but it will get better in later chapters (Plus, I don't really care if it's too long, I like it ;P). It would probably have been finished sooner if my 10 week old kitten hadn't decided to 'help' write it... That's about it from me. Hope you enjoy ;) Thanks for reading ;) Love MalllladeImaginaire xx
Hi :) I can't really think of anything to say... Hope you enjoy the story :) Love HaliaeetusLeucocephalus xx
It was a freezing night in the middle of January and a storm was raging overhead. The rain came down in torrents, massive, angry, purple thunderclouds were chasing each other across the sky and lightning crackled ominously above the rooftops. At 5 o'clock in the evening it was already as dark as midnight, nobody was to be seen about on the streets. Nobody, that is, except one young woman.
The young woman in question was rushing as fast as her feet would carry her. Almost running, she hurried at random through the streets with seemingly no idea which way to go. Occasionally she let out a loud sob. She was completely and hopelessly lost.
She was petite with very dark brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. Her dress had once been both fashionable and flattering but now it was soaking wet and clung to her slim body, her hair was plastered to her head. The dainty shoes she had on her feet were worn through and the soles were starting to leak. They were caked in muck and grime from the street. In her arms the young woman was clutching a heap of unrecognisable, wet fabric. Her name was Musichetta.
At a run she rounded the corner into a particularly dark side-street. She had no idea what it was called or where it lead to, but in her panic she didn't care. Something in her frightened brain told her if she tried enough streets, eventually she would find the right one. All logic seemed to have left her; it hadn't even crossed her mind to try knocking on someone's door and asking for directions.
Musichetta was about halfway down the little alley, when lightning flashed and there was a particularly loud boom of thunder, causing her to scream and trip over a cobblestone, only just managing to catch herself in time before she fell. Her bundle flew from her arms and landed in the gutter in the centre of the road, where it was almost immediately swallowed up and coated in the brown sludge mixed with rain water that was flowing thorough the narrow channel towards the sewers.
Despite herself, Musichetta let out a cry of anguish as she watched three months worth of work ruined in about as many seconds. Diving forwards, she crouched down and tried to fish what had once been ball gowns and now looked like dish rags out of the sewage. Try as she might, however, she couldn't quite reach them without either having to step into the unspeakable filth or overbalancing and falling face-first into it. In despair, she straightened up and cast around her for anything that she could use to help get the clothing back.
It was at that moment that a young man rounded the corner. He had his collar turned up against the rain, a cane in his hand and several books tucked under his arm; these he was trying to shield as best he could from the weather. Understandably, he seemed to be in rather a hurry and in a matter of moments had drawn level with Musichetta, who was still stood frozen in the middle of the road. At first she thought he was going to walk on past her, but he stopped and called out to her.
"Mademoiselle, what on earth are you doing standing out here in the rain?", he called, raising his voice so as to be heard over the peals of thunder echoing off the surrounding buildings, "you'll get soaked!"
"I already am. What difference does a little more rain make?", Musichetta shouted back, trying her hardest not to burst into floods of tears in front of this stranger. There was nothing she wanted more at that second than to be sat at home where it was safe and dry. Miserably she wiped a tear away as it trickled down her cheek.
The man looked up at the sky and shuddered visibly. "But there's a storm. You can't possibly stay out in this weather, it's not safe."
"Trust me, I have no intentions of staying outdoors any longer than is absolutely necessary," she told him with a slightly hysterical laugh and brushed her rain-soaked hair out of her eyes to peer at the ruined dresses again.
"Then why were you stood in the middle of the street?" As they were speaking the rain picked up and thundered down even harder, slowly turning the alley they were stood in into a river. The increase in water was too much for the narrow drain, already struggling to cope, and filthy water overflowed out of it's channel and began to seep across the street towards their feet. With a look of horror mingled with disgust the young man jumped back pulling her with him. "Shouldn't you be inside somewhere?"
By now Musichetta was starting to feel a little annoyed. She was tired, cold and lost and she didn't want to waste her time answering stupid questions. "In case you haven't noticed I've dropped these dresses in the gutter. I was just contemplating the best way of picking them up without having to touch all that filth. I'm not just stood here for the good of my health, you know."
This sentence had a strange effect on the man opposite her. He looked nervously up at the sky, then put his hand to his throat, as if feeling his pulse, and stood motionless for several seconds while Musichetta stared at him in confusion.
"What are you doing?", she asked, her anger vanishing to be replaced by curiosity at this singular behaviour.
He shook his head and rearranged the books under his arm in a feeble attempt to keep them dry. "Nothing. Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Is it far? It's getting dark." Saying it was 'getting dark' was an understatement. The rain blurred their vision and turned ordinary objects into threatening, looming shadows. The clouds had lost all their colour so now the sky was an angry black streaked with grey and to make matters worse the lantern at the end of they alley had not been lit so the only light was a small, pathetic candle stood in somebody's window. It was already almost impossible to make anything out in the gloom but as they looked around a hand pulled the shutters of the window with the candle shut plunging them into almost complete darkness.
Musichetta shivered and drew a little closer to the wall of one of the houses. "I know it is, which is why...," she stooped to gather up the fallen dresses that had been washed out of the gutter, "...I really should be going. It's going to take me ages to get home as it is. If I can ever work out where home is."
"Where do you live?", the young man asked her with a note of concern.
Clutching her now dirty bundle to her chest Musichetta smiled feebly. "No offence, but I don't know you. It would be foolish of me to tell a complete stranger exactly where I live."
He nodded seriously and pulled his coat tighter around himself. "Fair enough. I suppose that really wouldn't be very prudent."
"Not at all." She went to hurry past him in the direction she had been heading but he stopped her by gently catching her arm.
"I live just round the corner. You're going to catch your death if you don't get out of this rain soon and I couldn't possibly allow that. Come home with me." He let go of her and smiled kindly. At her sceptical look he continued, "I promise I'm not a deranged killer or anything like that and I won't try anything on. I just don't want to see a beautiful girl," he blushed but fortunately the young woman couldn't see that in the gloom, "catch her death of cold because no one was kind enough to offer her somewhere to warm up."
"How could I refuse a proposal like that?" Quite frankly, at that second Musichetta would have agreed to anything that meant she could get out of the storm and into somewhere nice and warm. This young man seemed nice and that was good enough for her. Besides, if he did turn out to be a mad rapist or murderer she could always run away. Weighing it up in her head, she decided it was worth the risk.
"You'll come?", her companion asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. He clearly hadn't been expecting her to accept.
She nodded, then remembered he probably couldn't see her very well any more and answered: "Yes, just promise not to murder me or anything like that." Despite herself, she couldn't help giggling slightly.
The young man laughed cheerfully, an odd sound in such an unpleasant setting. "I promise." He took her arm and carefully helped her back the way she had come along the alley towards his home.
It took them about 10 minutes to reach the right building. Neither of them spoke much on the way there, both were too cold and fed up to be in the mood for conversation. As soon as they got out of the rain however, the young man seemed to cheer up again. "Here we are." He unlocked a door at the end of a long hallway. "Please come in."
With a gracious smile Musichetta walked past him and into the small room."Thank you." She took a few minutes while he was busy taking off his hat and coat and hanging them up neatly to examine her surroundings. Despite it's size the room was well furnished. In the middle of the floor there was a table with two uncomfortable looking chairs. A desk occupied the space under the one little window. It was piled high with books and papers and all sorts of miscellaneous and slightly bizarre artefacts, including a large stack of magnets and what looked horrifyingly like a human skull. Bookcases lined most of the walls apart from the one next to the fireplace where a large, squishy armchair stood. The floor was almost completely covered by a large rug. Two doors lead out of this room, the one they had just entered by and another, presumably leading to the bedroom. "You do have a nice room here, Monsieur...?"
"Joly," he answered with a slight bow in her direction.
"Pleased to meet you. My name is Musichetta." The young woman wandered over to the desk and peered curiously at the skull, still clutching her bundle of sodden dresses and shivering slightly from the cold.
Her new acquaintance, Joly, offered her a chair. "It suits you," he commented quietly.
She gratefully accepted and sat down, dropping the dresses onto the floor beside her, glad to be out of the rain at last. "Thank you again." Musichetta studied Joly as he hurried across the room to rummage through the things on the desk looking for something. He was quite tall, but not exceptionally so, slim, well-built and with a friendly face. His hair was untidy and brown and seemed to be constantly falling in his eyes, the colour of which she couldn't quite make out. Overall she decided that he looked very likeable and cheerful with maybe a hint of nervousness, which made her wonder what it was that was worrying him. Something in his eyes reminded her of a puppy and made her want to reach out and cuddle him. It took quite some effort to force herself to resist the temptation and stay sitting in her chair.
"Finally!" Joly straightened up holding a bottle and two glasses. "I know it's a strange place to keep things like this," he said as he poured them both a drink, "but the cupboard I used to keep them in was broken recently." He came back over and handed her one of the glasses then settled himself in the other chair. "So how come you were wandering around here in the rain in the first place Mademoiselle Musichetta?"
"You don't have to call me 'mademoiselle'. It sounds so formal and my name is long enough as it it. Mademoiselle Musichetta is such a mouthful. Just Musichetta is fine."
"Alright, 'Just-Musichetta', why were you out in this storm?", he asked with a charming grin.
She laughed feeling completely at ease with this stranger, almost as if they were old friends, even though they had never met before. "I was supposed to be delivering these dresses but I managed to get myself hopelessly lost and then, to make matters worse, I dropped them in the gutter, which is when you found me."
"Are you a dressmaker?"
Musichetta nodded. "Yes, but not a very good one, unfortunately," she answered, smiling ruefully, "most of my dresses end up looking horrible, although the blame doesn't lie entirely with me. Some clients order the strangest things."
Joly glanced down at the heap of pink and lilac fabric covered in fussy frills and bows lying beside her chair. "I think they're lovely, but I have to admit to having no knowledge about women's clothing at all."
"It doesn't matter now anyway,they are all completely ruined." With a toe the young woman prodded the offending items, which squelched revoltingly and leaked brown, slimy water onto the rug.
Looking horrified, Joly watched the puddle of water spreading slowly across the floor, soaking into the rug and seeping in between the floorboards. Almost involuntarily he pulled his chair away from the advancing filth. "They are not ruined. If we hang them up I'm sure they'll have dried out by morning," he objected in a would-be-optimistic voice, which sounded more disgusted than reassuring.
"They landed in the gutter," Musichetta pointed out, "Would you want to wear them if you knew they'd been in all that muck?"
"Even if they hadn't I wouldn't wear them. Pink is just not my colour."
Imagining what he would look like in one of her dresses made Musichetta start to laugh and soon Joly joined in as well, unable to stop himself. She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lit up and glittered when he laughed and his smile was so endearing, she felt her heart warming towards him. A strange urge came over her to say something, anything, to make him laugh again. "You know perfectly well what I mean."
"Sorry," he chuckled, an amused grin still playing about his lips, "so there is absolutely nothing to be done to save your masterpieces?"
"I'm afraid not." In all honesty Musichetta hadn't even looked to see if any of them could be saved. From the ever-spreading brown puddle on the floor, though, she guessed they were beyond repair. Even if they weren't ruined by the water, they would have nasty brown stains from the contents of the gutter and if, by some miracle, she managed to wash out the stains the young woman had a sneaking suspicion the smell would never quite come out of the many layers of fabric and frills.
Not looking all that sorry about it, Joly picked up his cane from the corner of the room and hooked one of the dresses, a particularly nasty ball gown covered in bows, on the end of it. More sludge slid off the dress and squelched onto the floor with a nasty, wet splat. With the repulsive item held at arm's length, the young man made his way over to the fire and threw it on. There was a loud hiss and a cloud of black smoke and the dress caught fire. "In that case Requiescat in pace, dresses and can we throw them out of my room, they're unhygienic," he said cheerfully, before heading back for the next one.
"It looks like you already have but feel free, I hated the horrible things anyway. The blood, sweat and tears that went into them and for what? To create these horribly unfashionable, revolting, pink dresses. Throw them out and good riddance to them!" She knew she should really care about the months of work that had been wasted creating something she was letting somebody throw away but she just couldn't bring herself to mind. She was too cold and tired. Maybe tomorrow she would worry about the money she had really needed that she wouldn't get and how to tell the lady who had ordered the clothes that they had been ruined but now it was just too late. With a sigh Musichetta took a sip of her drink and watched as her new friend threw her works on the fire.
Throwing the last dress onto the fire Joly excused himself muttering something about needing to wash his hands and disappeared through the door she assumed led to his bedroom. The sound of splashing water could be heard for a minute and then he returned grinning happily. "There. They're gone."
Musichetta frowned puzzled. "Why were you washing your hands? You didn't even touch the actual clothes."
"Still. I don't want to risk catching anything off them. You never know what sort of dirt you find in the gutters." Joly looked embarrassed and quickly changed the subject by handing her a woolly blanket, "Here. You'd better get dry or you really will freeze. I'm sorry, I don't have a change of clothes to offer you, unless you'd care to borrow some of mine."
"Probably better not. Your clothes aren't exactly feminine."
"I should hope not."
There was a brief lull in conversation as Musichetta wrapped herself in the blanket, using a corner of it to wring out her sodden hair, drenching the already wet floor in the process. Carefully, she peeled her dress off, leaving her wearing only her underwear and a woolly blanket. Luckily the blanket was bulky and large enough so that it covered her completely, without being too indecent. The dress was soaked through, so she arranged it on the back of her chair near the fire to dry, hopefully without creases. Then she snuggled deeper into the folds of the warm wool and pulled her feet up, tucking them underneath her, before turning back to face Joly, who had been politely looking in the opposite direction and pretending to be fascinated by the rain running down the window pane.
Noticing she seemed to have finished changing, he looked back at his guest and smiled. "Better?", he asked.
Smiling back at him, Musichetta nodded. "A lot better. At least I don't resemble a drowned rat any more. Well, not as much anyway." She gestured mournfully at her hair, which, despite her best efforts was still unflatteringly plastered to her head.
Gallantly Joly cried: "You didn't before, you looked lovely. Here come and sit by the fire and warm up." He rushed over to the squishy-looking armchair and pushed it even closer to the flames.
"Flatterer!", Musichetta laughed as she gladly took the offered seat. She was actually feeling rather cold. Despite the fire and the warm blanket she couldn't help sneezing several times.
A sudden flash of worry crossed Joly's face. "Are you feeling any warmer? Do you want me to fetch you another blanket? Are you feeling unwell?" He deposited his chair next to hers and hurriedly went in search of a rug he was sure he had left somewhere, if only he could think where.
"No, it's fine,I'm just a little cold, that's all," his guest called after him.
The young man reappeared from out of the bedroom clutching an armful of clothes and looking if possible even more startled than before. "Cold? How cold? Are you shivering?", he demanded, dropping the clothes and bounding over to sit beside her.
"Umm... no?"
"Do you feel confused at all? Maybe finding it hard to think or concentrate? Do you feel at all drowsy?", he persisted, studying her intently.
Feeling slightly awkward at his sudden interest in how she felt Musichetta laughed. "It's late, of course I feel drowsy. And I have to admit to being slightly confused by all these questions, but other than that I feel perfectly normal." She snuggled further down in the armchair to avoid looking at Joly and stretched her cold feet towards the fire enjoying the delicious warmth that spread slowly through her.
Absent-mindedly Joly got to his feet and began to pace the room muttering under his breath to himself as if to make sure he didn't miss anything. "Breathing seems normal, speech is normal. She is shivering slightly but not violently, seems to be able to think clearly, though. Co-ordination seemed alright and she wasn't struggling to move around at all. She isn't behaving strangely, so that seems... Hang on, how would I know what her normal behaviour is like? She might be acting completely out of character. Maybe coming into a complete stranger's room shows a loss of judgement. And she did say she felt drowsy and confused..."
At this point Musichetta felt compelled to interrupt, making him stop and look round at her. "From what you're saying I gather you're worried I have some sort of disease? What exactly is it you think I have? When I said I was drowsy, I rather meant that it was late and I'm tired, I haven't lost my judgement, you seemed nice and I was getting soaked outside in that storm so it seemed the lesser of two evils to come in here and... What was the other thing?"
He went bright red. "I... Umm... Nothing. Sorry."
"You don't have to apologise. I think it's sweet that you are worried about me," Musichetta said kindly. Something about the concerned face of her new acquaintance made her get up and take his hand. She squeezed it gently and pulled him back over to his chair.
"I wasn't worried, I was just...," he mumbled as he sat down tailing off with a glance in her direction to check if he'd offended her.
"Wondering?"
"Exactly."
There was a rather awkward silence where neither of them could think of anything casual to say.
After several minutes of staring vaguely into the fire Joly broke the silence. "So you feel fine then?"
Musichetta realised she was still holding his hand and quickly let go of it. "Perfectly, thank you." She began to wonder why he was so obsessed with health. He was definitely too young to be a doctor but she couldn't think of another reason for knowing so many symptoms. She wasn't even sure what they were the symptoms of if she was being perfectly honest. With a slight frown the young woman studied him again.
"You're sure? No difficulty breathing or muscle pain or joint pain or headaches or nausea or wheezing or chest pain or coughing or...," Joly continued oblivious to her curiosity.
"No, I'm perfectly alright. As far as I know I don't have any of those things and no limbs or body parts seem to have dropped off, so I'm sure I'll be fine."
"Sorry. I'm being ridiculous again." Joly offered her an apologetic shrug. "I get like that sometimes. Bossuet says it drives him insane, but I really can't help it. I just sort of... panic. He's the only person who can get me to calm down again and even then I'm never entirely convinced. It's laughable really." He sighed dejectedly. "It all comes with being chronically ill. You start to worry about your health all the time, even when logically you know there isn't anything the matter, at least nothing you can do anything about. The tiniest thing sets it off, like a headache or a cough and then within the next few hours you have suddenly developed five times the amount of symptoms, all of them more horrible than the last, and are convinced that you will expire in the near future. The trials of being a hypochondriac."
With a hopefully casual laugh Musichetta hurriedly steered the conversation away from diseases before Joly could tell her what he thought he had or worse what she might have caught wandering about in the middle of a storm. "Who's Bossuet?"
"A good friend of mine. He lives here most of the time, but he's staying with a different friend at the moment. You should meet him sometime. I think you two would get on brilliantly." Joly looked suitably distracted and cheered up at the mention of his friend.
Feeling reassured that she wouldn't be asked any more questions about her health Musichetta relaxed and looked around the small, cosy room. "Your room is so tidy. Mine is always a complete mess. I try and keep everything tidy but it only ever works for a few days, then I get bored of clearing up and forget again. I don't know how you do it, especially with two people living here," she commented, playing with the corner of the blanket she was wrapped in.
Back to his cheerful self Joly laughed. "Trust me, I'm just as bad. It's only tidy because it has to be. One of the hazards of living with Bossuet, I'm afraid. He has to be the clumsiest person I've ever met."
Sure he must be exaggerating Musichetta giggled. Nobody could be that bad. A little bit of mess never hurt anyone. "So you keep it tidy so that there's nothing for him to trip over?"
"Trip over, bang into, smash, knock off, slip on..." Joly rolled his eyes and smiled fondly.
"Is he really that bad?"
He shook his head in mock despair. "Worse, trust me."
There was a momentary lull in the conversation where Joly watched the beautiful woman curled in the armchair beside him as she tapped her elegant fingers on the arm of her seat. It struck him how lovely her eyes looked in the firelight and how soft and silky her hair was. He had the sudden overwhelming urge to run his fingers through it but quickly folded them together in his lap and tried to think of something to say to her. "Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry. I think I've still got some bread and cheese left over somewhere...," he said eventually and quickly stood up to search in one of the desk draws for the food he had been forced to store there since his clumsy friend had smashed his cupboard knocking it over when trying to move it.
"Maybe a little bit hungry. I'm mainly just tired." As she said it, Musichetta realised exactly how tired she actually was. For some strange reason she hadn't really noticed before, but now that she had, she was surprised she was still able to keep her eyes open and hadn't started snoring right there in the armchair. She quickly stifled a yawn.
"Would you like to go to bed?", Joly asked. It took a second for him to realise what it sounded like he was implying. When he did, he blushed furiously and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I didn't mean that how it sounded. I just meant..." Unable to continue, he stared at her in horror.
It struck Musichetta how sweet he looked when he was worried. She had no doubt that he was only trying to be kind and hadn't meant what he thought it sounded like so she quickly reassured him:"I know. You don't seem like that kind of man."
With a sigh of relief that she hadn't taken his question the wrong way Joly relaxed again. "Thank you, I think."
Despite the offer to stay Musichetta felt like she was intruding and had better be going home. After all he was a stranger and she couldn't really make him go to all that trouble for her. "Are you sure I can stay here? I really don't want to be an inconvenience. I'm sure the rain has eased off by now and I could get home." She got slowly to her feet, reluctant to go back out into the cold and rain again.
Joly jumped to his feet as well and caught her hand. "The storm is as fierce as ever." At this point he paused and checked his pulse again. "Only now it's dark. I couldn't possibly let you walk home alone in this weather." He looked genuinely upset by the idea of her leaving.
"But...," Musichetta tried to protest, realising with surprise that she didn't actually want to go. It wasn't just the thought of being out at night it was something else as well. She didn't want to leave him. This thought shocked her. She had only just met the man and didn't know anything about him but now she was feeling sad at having to say goodbye to him. Hurriedly she forced a smile onto her face. "I couldn't possibly..."
Laughing Joly interrupted, "You're staying here and that's final. You can have my bed. I've got some work to do, so I probably wouldn't have got any sleep anyway."
Unsure if he was making it up to be kind to her or not Musichetta frowned. "You have to work all night? What on earth do you do that means you have to stay up so late?"
Joly shrugged and let go of her hand to wander across to his desk. "Well, technically it's not actual work. I'm a student."
"Really? What are you studying?", she wanted to know. It wasn't actually surprising now she thought about it. Of course he was a student with the amount of books filling his room and his intelligent way of talking.
"Medicine." He gestured to the bookshelf nearest her that was crammed with volumes of all shapes and sizes on anatomy, surgical procedures, diseases and other relevant topics.
Well at least that explained the skull. Musichetta examined the books beside her with interest for a few seconds. Then she remembered their conversation from earlier. "Is that really a wise choice? If you yourself admit you're a hypochondriac, isn't studying medicine just going to make that worse?"
"Probably. Unfortunately I also find it fascinating and being able to help people is a wonderful thing. It's all I ever wanted to do, become a doctor." His voice reflected the passion he clearly felt for his chosen subject of study and his face lit up as he talked.
"To help people?"
"Yes and because it's interesting. Also it can't hurt to know what diseases there are and the symptoms. Then if I get any symptoms I can diagnose the disease early and maybe do something about it before it's too late." As he said this the medical student checked his pulse yet again almost as if he didn't realise he was doing it.
Musichetta couldn't help laughing. "You are hopeless!"
Taking a book down from one of the shelves and playing with the pages Joly grinned. "That's what Bossuet says as well."
"Maybe your friend and I have more in common than I thought."
"I did say the pair of you would get on brilliantly together," Joly beamed happily. Then he recalled her saying she was tired and thought he had better let her get some sleep. "The bed is just through there." He waved his hand in the direction of the door across the room. "You can close the door and I promise not to come in. If you need anything just call, I'll be right here."
"I will do." Musichetta crossed the room to the door he had indicated. "Oh, and Joly?" The young woman paused, her hand on the door handle and looked back over her shoulder with an enchanting smile.
He looked up from the book he had just opened. "Yes?"
"Thank you. For everything."
A bright smile lit up the student's face."It's nothing. Good night and sleep well." And with that he sat down at the desk and turned his attention to the books and notes in front of him.
The next morning it took Musichetta a minute to remember where she was. As she opened her eyes, yawning widely she found herself in a strange room with light flooding in through the window, the curtains being only half closed. The bed was positioned in the middle of the room, more bookcases and a chest of drawers lined the walls and a small table stood to one side of the bed with a glass of water, a large medical textbook and an apple lying on it. A chair stood in one corner, or at least what had once been a chair. One of the legs was now cracked and the seat seemed to have given way. Idly, Musichetta wondered if this was down to the friend Joly had been telling her about.
Slowly she rolled out of bed and reached for her dress that she had moved to the chest of drawers to dry. It was now only slightly damp so she put it on again and tried her best, without a hairbrush, to do something with her tangled, messy hair. The attempt wasn't completely successful but at least she looked a little more presentable than the night before. Glancing down at herself one last time she made her way over to the door and pushed it open.
The small room looked much the same as the evening before, the only difference was that the fire had gone out and even more papers seemed to be spread across the desk and surrounding area. Joly was still sat at his desk where she had left him, book open in front of him, busily labelling a sketch of what looked like a human skeleton. He looked exhausted with dark rings under his slightly bloodshot eyes and didn't even look up when she entered.
Musichetta waited for a second in the doorway for him to notice her presence. When he didn't respond, she walked over to the desk and said happily: "Good morning, Joly."
He started up out of his chair with a yelp, dropping his pen which splashed ink all over the skeleton. "What?! Who?! Where?!" Joly whipped round to face his guest, a startled expression on his face. Realising who it was, the young man's face relaxed into a weary smile. "Good morning, Musichetta. Did you sleep alright?"
"Wonderfully, which is clearly more than can be said for you. You look like you haven't slept a wink all night. Sorry if I startled you."
He waved away her apology and grinned broadly. "That's because I haven't."
"When you said you still had work to do, I didn't realise you meant you'd stay up all night to finish it. In my experience most students aren't as hard-working as that." Musichetta picked up some of the papers on the desk and idly flicked through them. He had nice handwriting she noticed and his notes were well organised and easy to follow.
"In your experience?" Joly pushed his chair back from the desk and stretched his aching muscles.
"Yes, don't look so surprised. I know quite a lot of students. It's just about the only way to guarantee an intelligent conversation round here. A girl can only listen to so many stories about cobbling or lace-making or similarly tedious jobs," she answered with a mischievous grin.
The student laughed. "If I'd know it was intelligent conversation you wanted I'd have tried a bit harder to sound intelligent." He paused, obviously thinking hard, chewing on the end of the pen he had retrieved from where it had rolled under the human skull, face screwed up in concentration.
It was Musichetta's turn to burst out laughing. "You're replaying the whole conversation from yesterday evening in your head to see how you sounded, aren't you?", she giggled.
A look of mock outrage appeared on Joly's face. "No, I most certainly am not!", he exclaimed indignantly, but he was grinning slightly. "Well possibly, but I'd hate to have disappointed you and ruined your high opinion of students."
"Don't be silly." She didn't mention that he was the nicest student she had ever met but the thought did occur to her.
"If you're hungry breakfast is on the table over there," Joly offered, waving a hand in the direction of the table.
"I really can't. I've got to find the house I was supposed to go to yesterday and tell my client that I ruined her dresses. If I'm lucky I might always be able to convince her to let me remake them, but I doubt it." Musichetta shrugged. "That's life, I suppose." She couldn't help but throw a slightly regretful glance at the ash in the fireplace.
Noticing the direction of her gaze, Joly tried to distract her. "Are you sure? You could take something with you and eat it on the way," he suggested sounding almost apologetic.
"Only if it's not too much trouble..."
"Of course not."
"You don't happen to know how to get to this addressfrom here, do you?", the young woman asked suddenly holding out a scrap of paper to him.
Joly took it and studied it for a second before looking up and nodding. "I'll take you there, if you like. It'd do me good to get some fresh air after sitting at a desk all night," he commented.
Musichetta was delighted. "Thank you!", she exclaimed happily.
It only took Joly a few seconds to get ready. Once he had grabbed his hat, cane, coat and two small bread rolls for breakfast the pair set out into the dazzling morning sunshine.
They walked in silence, each of them caught up in their own thoughts eating the bread Joly had brought. Musichetta was reflecting on how lucky she had been that she had tripped in that particular alley at that particular time and met Joly. It was worth the stress of being lost and the risk of catching a chill, she thought happily and glanced sideways at her companion. He was strolling along whistling slightly under his breath and he couldn't have looked more adorable if he'd tried. She sighed, hoping he liked her as much as she already liked him. She indulged in fantasising about seeing him again as she walked.
All too soon they arrived at the right house. Dragging her feet Musichetta walked up the steps to the front door. She was just raising her hand to knock when Joly finally broke the silence: "Well, goodbye then. And good luck with the dresses." He was stood further back from the door, still in the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying almost too hard to look casual.
She smiled at him. "Thanks." There was another brief pause in which neither of them moved or said anything. "Joly?", Musichetta asked eventually, slightly uncertainly.
"Yes?"
"We will see each other again, won't we? I mean, only if you want to...", she tailed off hopefully, looking down at Joly with a pleading look in her large, brown eyes.
His answer came almost immediately. "I'd love to," he beamed. For a second the student just stood there, grinning like an idiot, which Musichetta found unbelievable endearing. With a smile he continued: "I was going to go to the theatre with Bossuet tomorrow, but he can't make it." He grimaced. "Long story. Would you like to come instead? You can't possibly leave me to go alone, not after everything I've done for you." His eyes twinkled slightly with laughter as he spoke.
She threw him a mischievous grin. "It would be rude of me not to."
"So you'll come?", he asked, his voice going from cheerful to nervous again.
Musichetta laughed and ran back down the steps towards him. She threw her arms round his neck, unable to resist the temptation to hug him any longer. Joly looked slightly shocked but pleased at the same time. "Promise," she giggled, lightly kissing his cheek.
"You know where I live now, if you meet me there at 7 o'clock we should get there in plenty of time. And we could always go to dinner afterwards, if you like."
"That'd be lovely." Musichetta tried her hardest to keep the excitement out of her voice.
"Well, that's settled then," Joly said. He pulled out his watch and glanced at it. "And now I'd better be going. I've got a lecture to attend in half an hour."
"Goodbye and thank you for everything," Musichetta whispered in his ear and brushed her lips against his cheek again. She was so happy, she didn't even notice him blush slightly.
"Until tomorrow and it was my pleasure." He bowed to her and gave her one last wave before vanishing into the crowd.
Feeling happier than she had in a long time Musichetta turned and skipped back up the stairs, already looking forward to the seeing Joly again soon.