Here's Chapter Two! It took me two days to write this, and me staying up until 3 in the morning last night, so I hope y'all like it! :) And as a side note, I forgot to stick this in the AN at the beginning of Chapter 1, but this story is based off of both the book and the 2012 film, The book I am currently reading, but I've watched the movie more times than I care to count and I love it every time! Please Enjoy and R&R! Constructive criticism is more than welcome, but no hate please! Thank you!
Enjolras jolted awake, choking back a cry of alarm. He glanced about wildly, until his eyes settled on the concerned face of Combeferre directly in front of him. Combeferre's hand was half extended towards him, and he realized that this was what had awoken him; Combeferre had drawn his hand back at Enjolras's violent start. A shudder racked the blond's body from his position by the end of the bed where Prouvaire was resting. A sweeping gaze around the petit maison [little house] assured him that the other two were still asleep. It was not quite night yet, the light around them wavered at that indecisive seeming hour of twilight, as if the Heavens could not decide whether they wanted to bring Night about or allow the Day to remain.
"René, look at me," Combeferre's steady voice reached his ears, and he returned his gaze to Combeferre. His friend had removed his spectacles, and his normally close cropped brown hair was disheveled.
"I'm fine 'Ferre." Enjolras sighed, "You startled me, that's all."
"Enjolras…" Julian sighed, trailing off as Enjolras leveled him with a stony glare.
"Julian, I'm fine. I am unused to sleeping out-of-doors, I'm only a bit on edge."
Mercifully, his friend let the subject drop. They both looked over at Courfeyrac, who was curled into a tight ball near Prouvaire's head. He was asleep, but it wasn't a restful slumber, they could both tell. Their friend, affectionately known to the rest of Les Amis de l'ABC as the center of their little group, the glue, wore a frightened scowl, his wide set eyes screwed shut. He rested his head directly on the cobblestones, having lost his waistcoat at the barricade. Prouvaire lay sprawled on his back on the bed, asleep. Enjolras squinted through the growing darkness and rose to check on the gentle natured man. He knew nothing of medicine, as a child he'd always let Combeferre take over treating any injuries brought about by their rough housing. Nevertheless, he knelt at Jehan's side and gently shook him awake. The poet blinked bleary blue eyes at him as he came to with Enjolras gently supporting his head.
"'Jolras?" He mumbled, as Enjolras helped him into a sitting position.
"Easy Mon Ami, you need to drink something. Combeferre, could you wake Courfeyrac?"
Combeferre did, and in a moment the younger man was sitting up and gazing at him, his mess of dark curls flattened to his head on one side. Enjolras nodded to the pail sitting nearby.
"Courfeyrac, do you know where Gavroche fetched water from?" He purposefully ignored the way his friend shuddered at the mention of that brave little gamin. He knew that Courfeyrac had practically adopted Gavroche as a younger brother, and had truly seen him as such.
"Yes, he fetched it from la fontaine dans le Jardin du Luxembourg, at night." [the fountain in the Luxembourg Gardens] Courfeyrac replied, "he claimed that he never trusted fetching it from the well in Saint Michel, I never quite understood why."
"No matter, but Le Jardin is quite a walk from here, on the other side of Saint Michel. Is there anywhere closer?"
Courfeyrac nodded, before voicing his affirmative upon realizing that it had grown too dark to see each other clearly, "I'm fairly certain that there's a well in the marketplace, once it's darker I shall go search for it."
"But there is the question as to your appearance." Combeferre pointed out, "How are you going to explain the condition of your clothes? There's blood on them, that alone will raise suspicion, if not for that you could pass for a poor citizen."
"Assuming there's anyone about." Courfeyrac argued, "Listen, there's been very little activity out in the Marketplace today, we would have been woken if there had been, it's easy to hear street noise from here."
"Courfeyrac! Whether or not there are civilians about, there will be gendarmes and National Guardsmen all over the city searching for insurgents. You can't go." Combeferre retorted.
"Combef—"
"Enough!" Enjolras's quiet voice cut between the two of them like a whiplash, effectively silencing both. He turned his eyes from Jehan and froze both men in their place with a stony glare. He continued after ensuring he had their attention.
"We need water. The safest time to get it is under darkness. Since neither of you can reach agreement, I shall go." This was met with vehement protest, the biggest protest unexpectedly coming from Prouvaire, who he'd assumed to be in too much pain to follow their debate.
"Enjolras, no! It's risky enough for us – them –" Jehan paused to correct himself, knowing full well he wouldn't be moving about unassisted for quite some time, and taking the moment to grit his teeth against a fresh jolt of pain plunging through his leg, " – to go out there even at night. But they'll be looking for you specifically Mon Ami, as far as we know you're the only barricade leader who hasn't been killed or captured; we know that –" another pause to hiss in pain, "—we know that Charles Jeanne was captured late last night when his barricade was taken. After him, you are the most well known of all of us, you're the biggest target, to them you are the biggest threat." Prouvaire stopped speaking then and fell back on the straw pallet, what little strength he'd saved up in his slumber quickly exhausted by his protest.
"Jehan is right, René, you are the one they'll be looking for the most. It's blatantly obvious that they know we have escaped by now. We were the last barricade, nearly the entire Guard had already been dispatched to deal with us, they'll put off cleaning up for as long as possible – or put the working class people to the task – and focus all of their attention on finding us. I agree we need water, but please, let's be rational about this." Combeferre pleaded. Suddenly he started, and glanced around the small space. When next he spoke, his voice was strangled.
"Where is Courfeyrac?"
Enjolras's stony face remained impassive as he gazed about with searching eyes. Only Combeferre, who knew him so well, was able to spot the sudden anxiety that flared up in his friend's face.
"Batárd!" The blond man swore suddenly, causing Jehan to jump at the sudden raised volume of his voice. Courfeyrac had clearly taken the other students' argument as an opportunity to steal away with the pail. Enjolras stood abruptly, fisting his fingers in his tangled and matted hair. He paced the cramped "quarters" like a caged lion, every line of his body taught with tension. Combeferre could only stand by and stare, as could Prouvaire, though the latter did so with glazed eyes. Combeferre spared the poet a glance; his biggest fear was infection setting in, something which was almost unavoidable unless they were somehow able to procure proper medical care. As he turned his eyes back to Enjolras, who continued to pace, he noticed that his friend was walking with a slight limp. But he couldn't be sure, the only light by this point was from weak and watery moonlight that shone down through the narrow space between buildings. It made for very poor light, but he was thankful that the moon was out at all. Still, if his friend was limping, he was hurt, no matter how adept he was at hiding it. Even as children, Enjolras would sooner hobble home on a broken ankle than admit to Combeferre that he was in pain.
So adept was he at hiding discomfort, that Combeferre did not doubt at all that Enjolras himself had likely forgotten he was hurt, or maybe he never knew at all; earlier in the day they'd all been running off so much adrenaline that none of them had noticed their injuries – excepting Prouvaire of course – and then once they'd reached this petit maison, they'd all been too exhausted to do much more than tend to Prouvaire and fall asleep. Combeferre himself was only just now beginning to notice that what he'd thought to be merely a shallow laceration on his arm was in actuality a deeper cut presumably caused by a glancing blow from a sword. Julian clucked his tongue as he examined his wound, it had stopped bleeding some time ago, but was far from clean. He'd have to scrub the dried blood from it and clean it in the morning. Combeferre turned his attention once more to the shadowy form of Enjolras looming in the dark as the tall young man began muttering under his breath. Combeferre strained to understand what he was saying.
"—Something so rash! Idiot! He's almost as tedious to deal with as Grantaire of all people! I'll have half a mind to box his ears myself when he returns if the damn police do not catch him first!" Combeferre barely made out the muttered rant, but at the mention of Grantaire's name he straightened in sudden realization. Enjolras noticed this amid his pacing, and turned to him with his brow furrowed in an unasked question.
"Enjolras, did you see Grantaire anywhere at the barricade?"
Enjolras scoffed at the cynic's name, but then paused in thought, and voiced his answer, "Non, Maintenant que vous le dites, je ne voyais pas lui après qu'il s'est évanoui sur la barricade hier soir." [No, now that you mention it, I did not see him after he passed out on the barricade yesterday evening.]
"He was not there this morning when the fighting began. Nor was he in the Musain. At least, I did not notice him amid the chaos, but it's quite likely he awoke and moved into the café, took advantage of the alcohol sitting unguarded and passed out again in there. Either that or he managed to wander away from the barricade completely, he's managed to get quite far on drunken wanderings before!"
"The only thing that wine cask cares about is his own self preservation. No, he doesn't even care about that, he's incapable of caring about anything! I doubt the National Guard would have taken an unconscious drunkard who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time into custody." Enjolras spat bitterly, "For his own sake I hope he wandered away, if we stumble across him at some point then that's one thing, but do not expect me to go seeking him out."
"He cares Enjolras, he just isn't capable of showing it like the rest of us." Combeferre replied gently, refusing to refer to the cynic in past-tense when he could still be very much alive, "If he was unconscious in the café and the Guards came across him, you are right, I highly doubt they would have placed much importance in him given how intent they were on finding us. I do not think he would have left the barricade completely, given how he follows you around."
"Not that I asked him to stand in as my shadow." Enjolras sighed in resignation, "I hope he's safe, but I will not go out actively searching for him. If he's as strangely attached to me as you say, then he'll find us soon enough. Once things appear to be safer out in the streets, I aim to at least attempt to find Joly, Feuilly, Bossuet and Bahorel."
"René…..the chances aren't high that they're out there." Combeferre reasoned in a broken tone, he'd been as close with them as Enjolras, who, in turn, wheeled about and despite the poor light, Julian easily read the desperation on his friend's face. This was exceedingly rare, for Enjolras to show vulnerable emotion plainly on his face, for it was uncommon for him to even crack a smile.
"I know that Julian, I – I can't abide just sitting here not knowing where they are or if they're okay or if they're even alive! I have to know!" Enjolras hated himself at that moment, he could feel his cool demeanor cracked under the stress and events of the past few days, he felt as though his heart, so carefully guarded and shielded from vulnerable emotions had been laid out on his breast for everyone to read his every emotion. And he hated it, he hated feeling exposed like this, though he knew Combeferre would be the last person to judge him for it. Combeferre, Bless him, did not intrude on the mental war Enjolras was having presently, he stayed back and gazed at him with sympathy as he waited for his friend to gain control of himself once more, knowing it wouldn't take long for that iron fist Enjolras kept on his emotions to close once more. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Enjolras took a shuddering breath and met Combeferre's eyes. Thankfully, Prouvaire had fallen asleep once more by this point.
"René, We will find them. I promise you, we will find out what has happened to them. But we cannot do so until we have regained our strength and the authorities have stopped hunting for us so intently." Combeferre comforted, always the voice of reason, "Now, let's sit and wait for Courfeyrac to return. To be frank, I'm glad he insisted on going for water. He was with the little lad so often that he was practically apprenticed in learning the art of being a gamin! We'll take turns sleeping so that one of us is awake when he returns." Combeferre took this moment to step forward and lay a reassuring hand on Enjolras's shoulder. He knew Enjolras wasn't much one for physical contact, but Combeferre was the only one who could touch him without him stiffening in apprehension. His father, who Enjolras had no contact with other than for a monthly allowance sent by post, was not a kind man, cool and distant and quick and harsh in his punishments, and Enjolras's dislike of being touched was simply a leftover burden from childhood. He let his hand drop after just a moment, Enjolras, likely due to the overwhelming stress he was undoubtedly feeling, had unconsciously tensed under his hand.
"Mon Ami, please rest. You need it, I'll wait up for Courfeyrac, he should not be much longer. I promise I'll wake you immediately should the need arise."
Enjolras didn't argue, simply moved past Combeferre and reclaiming his spot on the cool stones at the foot of the bed. As he lay down, he glanced up and met Combeferre's gaze, his eyes shining dimly in the dark, before resting his head on his waistcoat and closing his eyes, quickly falling asleep despite the anxiety coursing through his veins.
Combeferre watched him sleep for several minutes, it was so rare to see him relaxed, without a furrowed brow or concentrated frown. Not that he was fully relaxed even in sleep at this moment, but it was close enough, and for that Julian was glad. He checked on Prouvaire once more, then turned and placed himself on the wooden crate opposite their now-designated sleeping area, using it as a chair rather than sitting on the unforgiving cobblestones. He rested his chin on his fist and flashed his gaze about their little sanctuary once more before training his stare on the entrance; he'd have to discuss with Courfeyrac about the possibility of procuring a candle or two for use at night if they planned to stay here very long. He did not plan on waking Enjolras unless the need absolutely arose, he would stay awake all night for Courfeyrac. This conclusion reached, he arranged his body into a more comfortable position and settled down for his wait.
Courfeyrac ducked in and out of the shadows along the marketplace, listening intently before turning every corner. He'd found the well of the marketplace easily, only to discover it closed off and padlocked. Irritation had coursed through him; who on Earth would padlock a well?
Nonetheless, he'd reset his course and was currently walking closer to the poorer part of this side of the Seine, he was not quite to Saint Michel yet, as he could hear the river nearby, it couldn't lay more than a street or so to his left. He had qualms about crossing the bridge to search for another well, there was no cover on the Pont-au-Change. More worrisome, the Prefecture of Police lay within view of the bridge on the other side. But they needed fresh water, and the sooner he returned to the petit maison, hopefully the less cross his friends would be with him. So he adjusted his course once more, though his tired legs ached in mild protest - he'd been walking for quite some time, and sleeping on pavement had not helped matters – and cut across to the next street over. He spotted the bridge some distance up ahead, and saw where an outlet from the underground sewers drained into the river. Strangely enough, he thought he heard a cry of relief from down in that outlet. He didn't pause to check, and instead turned back to the street from whence he'd come to cross around the drain and reach the bridge. The smell was atrocious, and he screwed his nose. But just as he was about to step out into the open, he happened to glance to his left and his blood ran cold, his heart jumped into his throat.
A police officer stood almost directly beside him, in full uniform, at the top of a set of steps that led down into the muck below. Courfeyrac stopped, and crouched down in the shadows, not daring to step out and let himself be discovered. Mercifully, the officer's back was to him, but Courfeyrac could not look away, he peeked around the corner of the apartment he hid behind. Something about the man's build seemed eerily familiar, and his silver flecked hair attempted to stir a recent memory. But he could not place where he'd seen him before. What was he waiting for, here of all places?
A commotion from down in the sewer muck, out of Courfeyrac's line of sight, drew his attention. So, he'd indeed heard a cry earlier. He heard the rusty gate at the sewer drain burst open, and heard what sounded like a person collapsing against the wall. He listened closely, and the voice that floated up sent a shock deep into his bones.
"It's you, Javert. I knew you wouldn't wait too long, a faithful servant at his post once more." A slight pause came amid the breathless and alarmed voice and very familiar voice, "This man's done no wrong,he needs a doctor's care!"
It was the voice of that old volunteer, who'd appeared amid the barricade clad in National Guard uniform, the one who'd held such concern for Marius's safety. Fauchelevent, he'd been called. Courfeyrac could have sworn he'd been killed alongside Marius in the final moments of the battle! Who was the man he'd spoken of? And Javert! This had been the police spy who'd infiltrated their barricade! He looked different now, clad in his uniform.
'Good evening, dear Inspector! Lovely evening My Dear! I know this man, my friends, his name's Inspector Javert!' The song like voice of Gavroche sounded in his head, the little gamin had been the one to uncover Javert's guise. He'd seemed imposing enough under his disguise, but now every part of him almost screamed danger. But he'd been executed, at the barricade, Monsieur Fauchelevent had seen to that! They'd all heard the sharp report of the pistol given to him by Gavroche! Clearly, the old man had allowed him to escape, and fired the pistol only to make the students think he'd shot him. Courfeyrac pushed down a feeling of betrayal, as the deep, intimidating baritone of the Inspector burst forth.
"I warned you I would not give in! I won't be swayed!" Courfeyrac could clearly see the gleaming pistol the man held at his side. Warned him? Courfeyrac listened closer.
"Another hour yet! Then I'm yours, and all our debts are paid!" The voice of Fauchelevent pleaded. Debts? How did these two know each other, and what had transpired between them? Fauchelevent simply did not strike him as a police spy, and on top of that, he'd helped them at the barricade!
"The Man of Mercy comes again, and talks of justice!" The mocking tone of Javert reached his ears, adding to Courfeyrac's confusion.
"Come! Time is running short!" Fauchelevent sounded irritated now, "Look down, Javert! He's standing in his grave!"
Courfeyrac had unconsciously leaned out further into the narrow alley, and from here he witnessed the most fantastic feat! The old man, who had to be at least sixty, scaling the wall to reach the steps of the alley, with a limp form draped over his shoulders! That of a man! How did this man possess such strength?! It was an impossible feat for even a fit young man, let alone an old, tired one! Both him and the unconscious form were covered head to toe in human waste, and Courfeyrac shuddered on their behalf. Fauchelevent stood face to face with the Inspector, who'd turned his body to return the older man's stare, and at this Courfeyrac realized his error and ducked back into the shadow of his hiding place. Fauchelevent moved past Javert, who appeared to be made numb by this feat of the old man's strength, though he seemed unsurprised. But as Fauchelevent moved forward once more, the chilling voice of Javert stopped him in his tracks, and Courfeyrac watched in horror as the Inspector drew back the hammer on his pistol and aimed it at the old man.
"One more step and you die, 24601." Javert stared disdainfully at Fauchelevent, who slowly turned to return his stare. Courfeyrac could not see Fauchelevent's face, though he saw Javert's hand waver on his pistol. After a long moment, Courfeyrac did not see what passed between the two, Fauchelevent turned away and resumed his path that carried him closer to Courfeyrac's hiding spot. He witnessed Javert appear to tremble in his place as he looked after Fauchelevent with an astounded expression, before looking down at the gun in his hand. Courfeyrac looked away, and peered after Fauchelevent as the man passed where he crouched in shadow, not noticing him. The younger man deliberated for a moment, before stealing after the old man, keeping to the shadows to prevent Javert's stare from landing on him.
Courfeyrac trailed him for several streets, waiting until they were certainly out of earshot of Javert, and then called out.
"Monsieur!"
Fauchelevent froze up ahead, tension lining his form as he looked about, searching for the voice that had called him. Courfeyrac removed himself from the shadows and strode towards him, "Monsieur Fauchelevent!"
The man turned around, and to say he was astonished was an understatement. Courfeyrac stopped before him, and set his pail down beside him. He was slightly breathless, but he looked up at the tall man with pleading eyes. He saw the moment Fauchelevent recognized him, and the old man let out a sigh of relief.
"Young man, how are you here?" Courfeyrac could tell from his words that the older man had been convinced that he and the form draped over his back had been the only survivors of the chaos fourteen hours before. Had it only been fourteen hours?
"We escaped, through a window on the second floor of the café. Myself and a few others, but Bahorel and the others…." He replied, trailing off as he mentioned his friends. He turned his attention to the man that Fauchelevent carried on his shoulders. Fauchelevent noticed his distraction, and brought a crumpled paper out from his pocket, remarkably unspoiled by the muck from the sewers.
"Marius here, he wrote his grandfather's address on a letter which he had delivered to my home by a little gamin boy, it was meant for my daughter, but I received it and travelled to the barricade to ensure his safety. Might you be able to tell me where this address lies?"
It was Courfeyrac's turn to be astonished, he'd been certain that Marius had been killed by the shot they'd all witnessed pierce his torso. And this was his Cosette's father! He choked on his own breath as he reached forward tentatively towards Marius. He caught himself at the last second, and turned his face to Fauchelevent.
"I know where his grandfather's home is. I must warn you though, the two have not been on good terms with each other over the last few years. I can take you there if you wish."
"I am sure his grandfather will be able to put aside any grudges when he sees his grandson. Monsieur, I would be most grateful." Fauchelevent adjusted his grip on the young man.
"My friends call me Courfeyrac, and after what you have done for us all, I insist you do the same Monsieur." Courfeyrac introduced himself as they began walking.
"Very well, Courfeyrac. Might I inquire as to where you escaped to, along with your friends? To be quite honest I thought the entire barricade overtaken." Fauchelevent questioned, with in furtive glance behind them to ensure that they were not being followed. Javert, for all his frightening intimidation, seemed to have simply disappeared.
"We've taken up refuge in a hideaway that was used quite often by Gavroche, near the Rue de Plume." Courfeyrac could not hide the grief in his voice as he spoke his surrogate brother's name. Fauchelevent heard this, how could he not, and glanced at him in sympathy. The too recent memory of the young man before him screaming desperately for the little gamin who had ducked into the street between the barricade and the National Guard, and having to be physically restrained by four of his friends, including the charismatic leader and a bespectacled student. And then the sight of him collapsed on the ground, cradling the little boy's body and sobbing in broken grief, Fauchelevent did not think he would ever forget that horrible scene.
"You cannot know how very sorry I am." He spoke softly.
"Please, Monsieur, I cannot think of him right now, please forgive me." Courfeyrac pleaded softly.
"I apologize, it is me who must beg your forgiveness, I should not have brought the subject up." Fauchelevent instantly regretted his words. The two were silent for a time as they walked. Courfeyrac eyed the limp form of his dear friend swaying on Fauchelevent's shoulders in time to the old man's steps. He knew he'd been away from his friends for far longer than it would have taken to simply fetch water, but he knew they would understand once he returned with the news of his discovery.
"Will he be okay, Monsieur?" Courfeyrac spoke up, sounding like a little boy.
"I pray he will be, I regret having to take him through the sewers, he's bound to get an infection from it, but there was no other means of escape."
"His grandfather is quite well off, he'll hopefully send for a doctor immediately. We're almost there." By this point they had crossed the Pont Notre Dame, and they were traveling through an increasingly nicer part of the city. Several minutes more, and Courfeyrac turned down a wide, clean swept street, with evenly spaced street lamps, which had all been long extinguished for the night. A large, austere mansion stood towards the end of the street, and it was towards this home that Courfeyrac directed his steps. He almost chuckled to himself at the manner they were sure to be received in, given the state of their appearances. As Fauchelevent appeared alongside him, he raised his fist and let a volley of knocks pound on the door. Moments later, the two spotted the dim light of a candle being lit on the second floor, and Courfeyrac pounded on the door again. Suddenly the door was wrenched open from the inside, and they came face to face with an aging woman who appeared to be in her fifties, a dressing gown pulled close over her nightclothes and a candle in her hand. Her face was shocked and slightly afraid as she stared at the two filthy men and the limp form upon the elder's back.
"Mademoiselle Gillenormand? My name is Antoine de Courfeyrac, I am a close friend of Marius." Courfeyrac hastily introduced himself.
"Monsieur, are you aware as to what time it is? To call upon a home at this hour! Aside from this, Marius does not reside here, he has not for several years. I apologize." The woman began to close the door with a slightly irritated expression. Courfeyrac stuck his foot in the door frame before the door could close.
"Mademoiselle, I have not come to call upon anyone, I am well aware as to the late hour and I pray you'll accept my sincerest apology for that. Monsieur Fauchelevent and myself have come to beg your assistance. We have come from one of the barricades across the river, Marius has been shot, he needs prompt medical attention. Monsieur Fauchelevent had to escape through the sewer with him. I apologize for our condition, but Marius is in a bad way you see, he requested that he be brought here if he was…you know. We brought him here in the hope that you can help him."
Fauchelevent had to give it to the young man, he spoke with such a charming and charismatic air that sounded years older than the boy was. The woman suddenly recognized Marius draped over his shoulders and gasped loudly, she dropped her candle, where it extinguished itself upon hitting the floor.
"Marius, oh, Marius, please, Messieurs, come in, come in. I shall fetch his grandfather." She exclaimed, leaving the door open and disappearing into the mansion. The two men stepped hesitantly into the foyer, Courfeyrac gently closing the door behind them. Raised voices floated down the grand staircase before them, and suddenly an ancient old man, far older than Fauchelevent, was racing down the stairs.
"Marius! My boy, you foolish, foolish boy! Oh, Bless you Messieurs, for bringing him here. Please, bring him here!" This old man moved with the air of a young man, and he certainly did not appear to be the man that Marius had described on one occasion, who he'd claimed to have scorned the very existence of his grandson. The two men followed Monsieur Gillenormand wordlessly up the stairs and into what Courfeyrac assumed had been Marius's childhood bedroom, judging from the wooden rocking horse in the corner. Fauchelevent stooped and laid the boy on the bed, before straightening and bowing politely to Gillenormand.
"Monsieur, I cannot thank you enough."
"Monsieur, it is I who must thank you, you have brought my grandson home in this time of need. It is true that we have not been on good terms for quite some time, but I care a great deal for him." The elderly man broke off suddenly, and shouted harshly, "Daughter, have you not sent Nicolette to fetch the doctor? Send her away at once and fetch a basin of hot water and rags." He turned once more to the two filth covered men.
"Messieurs, please, allow me to extend my highest hospitality to you both, you both are welcome here for as long as you need. There is a washroom three doors down this hall to the right, please feel free to wash up and discard your attire. I'll have a housekeeper bring up clean clothes and another basin of hot water and soap."
"My sincerest thanks, Monsieur. We shall not take up too much of your time." Courfeyrac spoke up, "I must return to my friends, I am already late. Might I be able to fill my pail with fresh water to take back to my friends?" He held up the wooden bucket.
Monsieur looked at him aghast, "Young Man, you have come from the barricades, correct? You are a friend of Marius?"
"Yes Monsieur, myself and three other friends were able to get away at the last moment." Courfeyrac spoke guardedly, wanting to trust this man, but wary of him. Fauchelevent had left the room to wash up.
"Son, I may not have supported the Revolution, but I can see that you and my grandson feel so strongly for this cause. You do not have to fear me. My daughter said your name is de Courfeyrac? I met man of the same name quite a few years ago, at a soireé."
"That would have been my father, Monsieur. I simply go by Courfeyrac. Or Antoine, if you prefer that. I am a law student at the same university Marius attended, as are most of our friends."
"Well Antoine, go wash up. And please know, any friends of Marius are welcome here, for as long as you need, please extend this offer to your other friends."
"Thank you, Monsieur. We are currently hidden away from the authorities, and we have one who is unable to walk on his own. I will certainly tell them of your offer, and as soon as our other friend can walk, we will make our way here. We are not exactly in lodging at the moment."
"Nonsense! Your friend who is unable to walk, he is wounded yes? I shall send my fiacre to fetch you all."
"Monsieur, you have been too kind, but we are Wanted men, the authorities are searching quite intently for us. I cannot burden you with housing us."
"Ah, but what better hiding place than the estate of an old gentleman? Go wash up and I shall send my fiacre around to the front to collect you and take you to fetch your friends."
Courfeyrac bowed deeply, and left the room.
After several long hours of waiting, Combeferre had dozed off. Sudden footsteps rushing towards their hiding place caused his eyes to fly open, and he sat up in alarm.
"Enjolras!" He hissed urgently, and the blond man was awake instantly in the first grey threads of light from the coming dawn. They both stared anxiously at the entrance, and a moment later Courfeyrac burst into the small space. Enjolras was upon him instantly.
"Where have you BEEN?" He cried, seizing the younger man by the lapels of his coat. Instantly he noticed that Courfeyrac was vastly cleaner, his hair combed and clean, and he was clad in new clothes, "Where did you get these clothes?"