Cher Liberte

"Monsieur?"

Even before he heard the voice, Enjolras knew there was someone behind him. The handsome insurgent turned to face the working man in corduroy trousers. "Go back to your post. They'll come any minute," he ordered sternly.

The young working man looked up. "Is he coming?"

"Who?" Enjolras asked.

"Monsieur Marius."

Enjolras bit his lip at the mention of Pontmercy's name. "Good on the whole, but how unreliable," he thought as he looked back towards the other side of the barricade. "He will come when he chooses to come," he said at last.

"He's going after someone," the working man sighed.

Enjolras peered at the boy curiously, wondering what was so strange about this dismal young soul that he could not place. "A grisette, or a bourgeois, no doubt," he said with a frown.

The working man fiddled with a torn edge on his shirt. "A very pretty one. Well, he's fond of her. Are you looking for someone too, Monsieur?"

"No." Enjolras replied.

The boy sighed again. "So it's for the new world as you say?"

Enjolras nodded. "L'avenir,"

"Not for people like me. You said we are likely to die," the wan working man said.

Enjolras looked this stranger in the face. "Citizen, when we leave this barricade, remember to look to the dawn," he said. "Now go back to your post."

"I shall, Monsieur," the working man said, half-leaping down the paving stone steps and running back towards the wineshop.

Enjolras sat alone for a time before going down to speak to Combeferre. Not far away, Eponine settled among the other insurgents, only now that she managed to smile.

Suddenly, from the other end of the Rue de Chanvrerie, Gavroche could be heard singing.