Chapter Two: Marius Offers Repentance for His Disgust of Èponine With Grave But Unseen Consequences
Marius was on time for both his classes and the meeting, something he praised the heavens for. It was not often their leader was unlike a brother to him; only when Enjolras found Marius lacking in some way was he called to attention, making Marius take pains not to be found lacking in any sort of way lest he be pointed out in a way he dreaded.
Enjolras, having passed his two and twentieth birthday, was older then Marius, who was not yet eighteen, though the two looked almost the same age. Marius sat in on the meetings as a guest or sympathizer at the moment but it was clear Courfeyac wanted him to join them fully.
He was beginning to wonder if it would not be a better thought to skip going to meetings; after all, he had not officially joined; but if he left now, the others would look on him as a deserter, a snake. In all truth there was nothing to be done, and he was supportive of the cause of the Les Amis de l'ABC. Perhaps just as importantly to Marius the meetings gave him friends, something that he doubted he would have had otherwise. He felt cruel for saying so, but he was not sure he could converse with any of his neighbors or any other people in his daily life.
Marius hated to feel cruel. He was, by upbringing, a decent young man. He went to Church every week and he was very kind. However, he was also timid enough to warrant the need for a complete absence of confrontation
When he stepped out he was glad for his boots and his coat; there was a gamin who ran around the Cafe and more often then not, he was barefooted in the snow.
As he was rounding a corner he trod on a pile of clothes leaning against a building and it gave a yelp. In doing so he trod on Èponine.
She stood and then fell again, a little frosty from spending most of the day and night huddled to herself in the cold. All of the nonexistent color drained from her face at the sight of Marius, so that her blue veins stood out all over. "Monsieur Marius." she breathed, trying to sound feminine. Her voice was low and crude-sounding enough for her to lose several syllables in her words when she did and she cringed.
"God God, Mamselle-my apologies." Marius said, carefully extending her his hand and being thankful (though he reproached himself for it) for his gloves. Her colorless lips spread over her teeth, of which two were missing in the bottom, and she did not take the outstretched hand, instead pushing herself up with her hands slowly. Her chemise fell completely about her ankles, leaving her breasts exposed. Marius flushed the color of blood and refused to look as she tied it about her body with a bit of string. He could not quite remember her name.
"I have just been evicted, Monsieur Marius, from my home," she said, "because my father maintains that I eat too much and do not work enough. I will bring the letters he writes to the houses only when I am certain that the house is friendly; if it is not I will simply drop them in the river and say I had. Perhaps if I had sent them I would not be turned away. But I am not worried, Monsieur, for I do not mind the cold. I was only upset that I would not be able to see you again, Monsieur, for I like to look at your face very much. I thought about you, last night, when I was alone, and I became happy—" she stopped, aware of her odd rambling, and instead pretended that first it was a book that had caught her attention; the one he had borrowed from one of his classmates which was tucked under his arm.
"Another book!" she marveled, and without asking she drew it out; he paid her no heed for whenever they had had their few, difficult conversations it was usually Marius tolerating the gamine on whatever unsociable follies she committed. She picked it up, opened it, and immediately frowned deeply. It was one he had borrowed to help himself learn German; his friend Courfeyac had the idea that he could work as a translator if he learned German and English. It was written entirely in German. "What's this, eh? Can't read a word—how's this written?"
"It is in German..." Marius remembered her name, "Èponine." A grisette passed by them and chanced to glance at Marius, giving the nervous little laugh a female emits when she sees a handsome youth. Marius's face colored slightly and he turned as far away as he could. This was facing the gamine, who tried to smile at him again. He contemplating turning back but did not.
"Where are you staying in the cold, Èponine?" he inquired. 'Perhaps if I had noticed Jondrette and this poor spirit beside me sooner, she would not have been cast out,' he thought to himself and felt responsible for her poverty once more. He probably would have felt more so if he was not growing tired of the Jondrette girl, who made him uncomfortable in a different way then the other females he came into contact with; for he did not care about what she thought. He wished her away. 'yet I wonder if this could have been a blessing in disguise for this wretched creature?' he meant Eponine's going to the docks but did not permit himself to think the words.
"On the street," Èponine replied in the almost-falsetto tone with garbled good humor. "but do not worry about me, Monsieur," (he had not) "I am fine on the street; that I am." then, in a slightly more broken tone (though Marius had trouble distinguishing between her rough tones) "The police don't care 'bout me. Don't even notice, nobody does."
"Yes, I suppose," murmured Marius offhandedly, barely registering her words. This ignited something in the spirit-like waif, and she grabbed at his gloved hands with the bony force of death. Marius wondered if there was a polite way to twist away from her grasp but she held onto his hand, staring at him boldly. Her eyes held as much life as ever they did.
"But you notice me, Monsieur Marius! I have seen you before and every time you notice me, and I..." she trailed off, the words she needed to express herself not available in her vocabulary. There was the sound of a horse in the distance and she started, then let go of his hand, much to Marius' relief. He rebuked himself for the gladness he felt when the waif had let go of his hands. After all, was he really better then this poor creature?
To make amends he tapped her—albeit quickly—on the shoulder and she spun round again, the grotesque smile managing to work properly that time and light up her dull face. Rather the first time Marius had seen her smiling correctly he chanced to examine her face and saw that at one time she would have been enviable. 'It seems that beauty refuses to relinquish this poor soul.' he thought to himself, but the small, dying remnants of loveliness only served to make her ugliness worse and more stark.
Knowing he might regret it but at the same time knowing that he had to offer to make up for his previous and still-standing disgust, he said to her, "Come into my room and warm yourself."