Hello again ! (: Decided to post another chapter because I was boreddddd! Some of the events I have changed, for instance ,Marius meets Cosette a lot sooner, just to clairify. Thank you so much so far for the reviews and such ,it means a lot and it is really helpful! Here is another chapter, hope you enjoy and for the rest...well I think you guys know what to do!
Enjolras found himself distracted for at least the fourth time that day. He had taken a walk earlier along the Seine, trying to compose his thoughts. He had given a speech earlier that morning, but he felt it lacked his usual ever present enthusiasm and had only attracted a small crowd. Even his companions seemed to notice that something was off about him. Though none said anything, he had caught them staring at him with a quizzical look. Especially Grantaire, who out of all of them should have been the least observant; it began to unnerve him.
A short while ago he had returned to the corner outside of the café and looking across the street, saw that Marius was speaking to a belle femme. He could tell from the way that Marius was blushing and appearing to stammer over his words, that this must be the girl he had become enamored with. His eyes narrowed at the sight and he looked away. Crossing his arms he leaned against the wall of the café.
His mind kept wandering back to the events that had occurred last night with the gamine. Never before had he encountered someone so bold, or with brutal honesty. Even if she had stolen his wallet at first, he forgave her easily. He would find another solution for money, and as for the wallet…well it could easily be replaced.
Reaching up, he went to adjust his collar, but froze midway remembering how blatantly she had propositioned him last night. It certainly wasn't the first time he had received such an offer, but it was the first time it had ever affected him in such a strange way. It was something that he could not quite explain.
Women had never been much of a priority to him. Most of the ones his mother had pushed at him had been silly, vain, and empty headed things. None could ever maintain a conversation with him that didn't have to do with the weather, parties or gossip. Those who had tried, had bored him to no end or did not appreciate or understand his opinions and ideas. Wit, honesty and intuitiveness meant more to him than beauty. None of those girls had ever crossed his mind more than once.
Perhaps this was why he felt so strange. His mind kept wandering back to her. Not because he was attracted to her, even though he supposed she was pretty in her way, but because she had accepted responsibility for her actions and had been honest with him. In a way she had gained his respect, which was a feat that no woman before had ever succeeded with him. It was a shame that he would probably never be given a chance to speak with her again. She could probably even be able to hold a decent conversation.
The rest of the afternoon, Enjolras was left mulling over his thoughts.
It had been completely by chance that Mariélle had stumbled upon him again so soon. Of course with all good intent she was going to look for him eventually to return his wallet, but her expectations were low because the odds of seeing him again were next to none. So she was quite surprised when on her way to the market, she saw him there in front of the café giving a speech.
There were a few bystanders, like her, who had gathered around him listening intently to his words, drawn to them like moths to a flame. She hung towards the back of the small crowd, clutching the basket she held in her hands tighter, as she listened to his speech about revolution and hope for the future. His words were empowering and she was nearly frozen to the spot as she listened.
"How much longer must the citizens of Paris be repressed? How much longer must her people go hungry? How many more of her people must die before something is done?" He paused for minute to catch his breath and as his eyes surveyed the crowd, Mariélle held hers, until his gaze passed on over her.
"I say why wait much longer? The king does not care if your wives are starving or if your children are dying. The king does not care if you have no work or no shelter over your head. He sends your husbands and brothers to fight his battles for him and what is given to you in return? Nothing he has promised. He pays you with lies. He is a tyrant and for that, we the people of France must show him what is done to tyrants! Citizens of Paris the time is now. We must rise and take back what is rightfully ours! What Lady Patria has meant it to be! A republic of people who have the right to rule themselves and live in a land where justice is the law and freedom the only king! Vive la France!" He shouted and raised his fist high into the air as the others who stood close to him chanted "Vive la France! Vive la république!"
A few members of the crowd started to join them and it took several minutes for everything to die down. As the crowd began to disperse, Mariélle too, made her exit not wishing to be seen. But once more she looked back, and saw that he had a somewhat satisfied expression on his face. Mariélle realized that he was one of the few men on this earth who actually believed in what he was saying and was a man of his own ideals, not forged by someone else's. Men like him either could do great things or be thrown into obscurity because no one would take them seriously. So far it appeared that he was the first choice of these men. For some reason this intimidated her.
As she made her way through the throng of people, she caught several comments about the enthusiastic young man. Most were in support of his plight and call for revolution, but a few were critical.
"What does he know of going hungry? I bet the boy has never gone a day without food in his life. He is a hypocrite." An older man conversed with his companion.
"He is only going to make things worse for us. Feuteur de troubles!" An old woman declared as she hobbled along in front of Mariélle with a young girl in tow.
"Enjolras is going to get himself killed someday." A young man muttered to himself as he pushed past her in a hurry.
Enjolras. That must be his name, Mariélle realized. It made sense after all it was the letter E. that was on the inside of his wallet. She looked down in her basket, and removing a piece of cloth, she made sure the wallet was still safely hidden. She had decided to carry it with her in case that by some miracle she would see him again.
She was thankful that he had not seen her in the crowd. Part of it may have been that she was no longer wearing her father's clothes and cap, but instead was wearing her hair in a braid and a dress. Even though it was somewhat worn and the dark blue color it had originally been was now fading, her mother had made it for her shortly before she died and it was one of the few nice things she owned and only wore it on the days she had to go to the dress shop. Madame Tóuissant expected absolute cleanliness and made sure that her working girls were always presentable. Mariélle already walked a thin line with her and today had taken especially good care of her appearance. She could not lose her job; it was the only source of her income. She was already running late as it was and she hadn't even gotten to the market yet to pick up fresh bread for Amélie. She picked up her pace.
After the work day ended, maybe she would venture back to the café and find some way to return his wallet to him. But the more she thought about it, the more it worried her, and she became apprehensive. He might not ever want to see her again after what she had done. But Mariélle had never been one to back down. Somehow she would return it to him. More determined than ever, she continued on her way.
It was shortly after nightfall and Enjolras once more found himself sitting in a corner of the café, but this time attempting to write a speech. So far the parchment in front of him remained blank and he held a quill in his hand as he attempted to turn his thoughts into words. The atmosphere was not as wild as it had been the night before, but he found himself restless.
"Here you go; my friend you look like you could use it." The voice of Marius interrupted his thoughts and as Marius set down a small glass of wine in front of him, Enjolras set down his quill.
"Marius, wait." He called back to him before he had gone too far, "I think it's time we talked."
Marius took the seat opposite of him and waited with a look of slight confusion, but still maintained a smile on his face. "About what?"
Enjolras stared at the glass in front of him, not sure how to begin. He had meant to bring up the subject earlier, but had not had the chance until now. There was no way getting around it, the matter had to be discussed.
"That girl you have been seeing," he paused and twisted the small glass of wine with his fingertips, "I think she is becoming a distraction for you."
The small smile that Marius had had on his face began to falter, "What do you mean?" he questioned and sat up straighter.
"I believe that she is distracting you from what is important." Enjolras leaned forward and placed his hand on Marius's arm, "Marius our minds need to be on revolution. My friend the time is drawing near, and we can't afford any distractions…"
"Cosette is not a distraction." Marius interrupted as he drew back his arm quickly. His smile had completely left his face, which was now darkened.
"Then what is she? You seem lost in your own world Marius, daydreaming half of the time. Daydreaming gets you killed in battle." He stated with a serious tone, "Forget your little liaison and get your head out of the clouds. Love is a silly, worthless emotion that is a complete waste of my time."
Marius remained silent for a moment with his arms now crossed. "You speak of battles like you've been in one before, "he began, "But tell me Enjolras, what do you really know of them? It is the same way you speak of love. You've never been in love, but you claim that it is a worthless emotion and a distraction. Maybe it is, but if so, I would not mind being lost in the clouds and distracted for the rest of my life with some silly, worthless emotion, because it is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. It's like I have finally found the part of me that I had lost without knowing it, and I finally feel whole again." Marius explained.
Enjolras sat there, not quite believing what he was hearing. It was as if his companion had lost his mind. Finally he spoke after a long pause, "Maybe you should have become a poet Marius, your words are beautiful enough, but still they cannot convince me of something that is not real."
"She is real!" Marius slammed his fist down on the table, nearly causing the glass of wine to spill over and causing several heads to turn in their direction, "She is the realest thing I have ever known. My feelings for her are real and you have no right to say otherwise." Furious, Marius rose from the table and stormed out of the café.
Enjolras sat there stunned, aware that everyone's eyes were upon him. Quickly he stared down at the table. Let the others think what they want. Sooner or later that boy would have to make a decision, and he prayed that he would make the right one. Almost in a frenzy, he picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and began to furiously write a speech about the importance of liberty over one's emotions.
"Excuse me, Enjolras?"
"Hmm…" Looking up from his parchment that was now filled with hastily scribbled words, he saw that it was the little street urchin that followed Courfeyrac around.
"What is it Gavroche?" He asked in a slightly strained voice as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with two ink stained fingers. The argument with Marius had left him feeling drained.
"This is for you." Enjolras heard a small thud as something landed on the table beside him, he hadn't bothered to look up yet.
"Thank you. Now run along, I have important matters to attend to." He responded and waited until he heard tiny footsteps walking away.
After a moment he looked up and saw a sight that astounded him. It was his wallet. What on earth was it doing here? It must have been her. Quickly he got up from his seat and scanned the room for Gavroche, until he saw the little boy on his way to find Courfeyrac, do doubt.
"Wait!" He called out to the boy as he ran towards him. He bent down to the boy's eyelevel and planted his hands on the child's shoulders. "Gavroche where did you find this?" He inquired, as the mischievous child stared up at him with a grin.
"Oh I didn't find it at all. Someone gave it to me." He replied slowly, with that same grin plastered on his face.
"Who gave it to you?" Enjolras continued to question him in earnest.
"Someone…who told me to give it to you." Now he figured the child was trying to torture him.
"Do you remember who that someone looked like?" He did his best to remain calm and after a second, even forced a smile.
"Oh I can't say for sure…sometimes I have trouble rememberin certain things. But maybe you have something that might help me 'member something." The child then held out his hand and looked around the room in a nonchalant fashion.
Enjolras nearly groaned, but managed to keep the smile on his face as he fished around in his pockets. Pulling out a franc he handed it to the boy, "Do you remember anything now?" He asked hopefully.
"I'm startin to 'member certain details, but still I ain't too sure…"
Gritting his teeth, his smile, he was certain, was starting to looked more forced as once more he pulled out another franc. The child was going to make him poor. "How about now?" He implored.
The child looked up at him and smiled wider, "Oh I 'member now! It was a nice young lady who gave me a piece of bread. She had a funny look on her face, like she was gonna be ill or somethin, but she asked me to give it to you as a favor and I says to her 'I swear or my name is not Gavroche, that I will find him and give it to him' so I did. " The boy finished his story, looking quite pleased with himself.
"Can you tell me, was she still outside when you left?" Enjolras asked anxiously.
"Oh…I don't know. I'm 'avin difficulties rememberin again." Gavroche trailed off and was about to raise out his hand again.
"Thank you Gavroche, but I think your skillful memory is no longer required." He patted the boy on the shoulders and almost leapt to his feet.
He did his best to leave the café, quickly without drawing too much attention to himself, and for the second night he began to make a mad dash on the streets of Paris, heading towards a figure that was quickly fading away.
Translation Time! (: :
belle femme- beautiful woman
Feuteur de troubles- Trouble maker
liaison- affair
