A/N: Thanks for the reviews and I'm so pleased to be back! :D
Chapter Two
Enjolras sat down, his eyes wandering restlessly around the room. There was a stack of papers, waiting impatiently to be read beside his plate and empty mug. The bread in front of him looked unappetizing, but then again, he wasn't feeling very hungry. He seldom ate.
As the sky outside grew dark, his mind continued to wander over questions that seemed like great obtruding boulders; he searched tirelessly for answers in the quiet corners. Why? He was waiting for the perfect time to strike, silent and quick. He had been waiting for several months now. When was that Time to come?
Something moved outside.
Enjolras looked at the small clock on the mantelpiece, its ticking like the slow, condemning boom of a cannon . It was nearly midnight. The young man was suddenly aware of a pounding ache in his head and his eyes began to droop. He stood up, sighing, and left the room. The papers, with dashes and blots here and there, lay scattered on the table. The food had not been touched.
"Is he gone?" said a low voice out in the cold night.
"Yes," was the reply, "I heard him going upstairs. Did you hear it?"
"Oh! Get on with it, you fools! Can't you see the light is off!" said another impatiently. It was Montparnasse.
"Well! You go in first, then, if you're in such a hurry!"
"What!" retorted the young man, "And who will watch outside?"
"Very well," said Babet, "Claquesous and I will go in, and you little cowards can wait out here. If something goes wrong, just give the call."
"But I can't fit inside that window! Wait!" said one of the men. "Eponine's here!"
"Took you long enough, 'Ponine."
"Hush! Eponine, you go inside first and unlock the door. You're smaller than us and you'll fit in that window; and besides, if you get caught, I doubt the young gentleman would lay a hand on you!"
The girl nodded her assent and began climbing up the wall. All the while, a painful expression of reluctance and indecision played on her mournful features. How she hated herself! And yet, what could she do?
She landed softly on the ground on the other side of the gate. She was in a garden.
"There she goes! Quick and quiet as a mouse, isn't she?" said Babet in a whisper, while Montparnasse looked on, murmuring, "What a precious girl that one is!"
Eponine entered through the small, open window. The house was still and she could see a loaf of untouched bread on the table. None of that! She knew what she had to do. With the silent agility of an experienced thief, the young girl crept to the front door. Her hand reached up to the latch and stopped there.
Could she do it? Two months—she'd stopped for two months, and now here, faced with the painful decision of two wrongs, she couldn't bring it upon herself to lift the latch. It was wrong—she knew it! But oh! Poor Gavroche! Perhaps… no, she would defend her brother with all the strength and courage she had left, but she would not damn herself by committing this—this petty act!
She retreated from the door, but Eponine—that agile, silent creature of the night—did not see the little clock on the mantelpiece. It fell. A loud crash reverberated in the entire house, sending every member of the Patron-Minette flying.
Eponine stood motionless, every limb numb with shock.
The sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs reached her hearing, and yet, she did not move. She could not.
Light blinded her for a moment and shadows spun around her. It was like the light of the sun, betraying her to the laughter of men, the jeering, and finally, the guilt she held for herself deep inside. This light blinded her.
And then she could see him. It was a young man, tall with handsome features and dark blue eyes staring at her in bewilderment.
There was a pause, and then the young man saw the filthy chemise and torn rags, the thin arms and pale face of a beggar. Not a begger—a thief.
"You…" Enjolras' words came out in a whisper filled with both anger and astonishment. "You're a thief… you're intruding on my…" And then rage—the rage that comes when a person realizes he is being robbed—broke from the solemn young man.
"Get out!" he cried angrily, "Get out of here! Get out!"
The girl made no movement. She stood looking at him. "Call them," she said softly, and in the passion of his anger, he realized her voice was mournful. "Call them, Monsieur. I do not deserve to go free."
He stood in front of her, waiting for her to run, to dash towards the door. But she did not. Slowly, his anger seeped out and he was left breathless and confused. The fury that had blinded him was now gone; now he could see not the thief, but only the beggar. And something awoke in him that was dead in others.
He watched her in silence, and then his hand moved to the bread on the table. "Take it," he said quietly.
"Monsieur!" said the girl, amazed. "I will not!"
"Take it," he said again, but this time he also took some coins from his pocket.
"I cannot! Why are you doing this?"
"Here," replied Enjolras, his voice soft.
They stood there, motionless and silent. Finally she moved forward to take it—he did not recoil from her light touch. She looked at him, and there was misery and an overwhelming gratitude in her eyes.
"Thank you, Monsieur," she whispered. And then she was gone.
Enjolras remained standing near the open door. He had just seen the Purpose of his entire life fulfilled. The little thing that had stirred in his heart was now awake and a curious joy leapt with vibrant life inside him. He stood as if in a trance.
