*insert witty disclaimer here*

Chapter 3

Sunlight streams into the well-appointed chamber through a crack between the heavy curtains, bathing the room (and its single occupant) in light. She yawns, stretches, and throws an arm over her eyes, shadowing them from the unwanted intrusion of the light; however, the light cannot be banished no matter how hard she wishes and cowers. Sighing, she throws off her blankets and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She steps over to the window, pulling the drapery apart and wincing at the light that pours in. "How long did I sleep?" she wonders. But as she has no way to determine this, she dresses quickly and gets down to the business of writing replies to the letters on her desk. The top one comes from Seléne.

"August the 16th, 1830

Lyon, France

Alianne, my dear,

I love how you tell me all of this as if you think I care. I really do. But, well, whatever makes you happy, I suppose, as long as you don't expect me to read it all. I was slightly amused by Elizabette Alanis and her (ruined, right?) silk dress. Perhaps a year or two younger than us? That one with the older brother both you and Madelein find quite attractive, right? Yes, I think that's her.

I suppose I must return the favor and tell you what I've been up to lately. That is, not much, if anything. Nothing of interest ever happens in Lyon; at least, nothing that I hear of. Whenever I do hear of something, it's usually of no importance whatsoever – parties, scandals, et cetera. However, I have come upon one piece of very distressing news – my parents are thinking of marrying me off. Now, I am fully aware of the apparently distressing fact that I'm not a great beauty; however, my parents seem convinced that they will be able to find someone for me. I don't even know how to react to this. I guess as long as he's not overcontrolling I'll be fine. I sit at home and read every day anyways, and I can cook and clean, but that's about it. He better not expect me to do needlework though. Anything new with you? You've got good parents though so I'm not sure. Madelein will tell me absolutely nothing, as she is wont to do.

I think that you're a bit too ambitious for your own good – at least with your women's rights and all. If you look at the Americas, with their brilliant example as the first democracy in the modern world, you'll still see that their women aren't much freer than we are here in France. Maybe men just don't understand, but whichever way it is I don't think that we're going to get equality anytime soon. Sorry, Alianne. It's something we all have to deal with (some of us more than others, you being one of the luckier ones).

Have you seen Thérèse yet? She told me that she was escaping to Bordeaux after a little, well, spat with her husband. If you ask me, I say that this is a totally unfair turn of events. Here I am, stuck in Lyon, while the four of you are down in Bordeaux having fun. Well, I'm not one for travel anyways (it's too strenuous unless one's rich, and then it's too much of an event to be any fun whatsoever) so I will just sit here and quietly fume over being left out.

Cheers,

Seléne Jeanfreau"

Alianne's marginally miffed at being sent such a short letter but, as there's absolutely nothing she can do about it, she begins her reply.

"August 20th, 1830

Bordeaux, France

Seléne,

Fine then, I won't say anything about my own life besides that what you've asked me. Have it your way. But yes, that's the one – do we honestly know any other Elizabettes? No? I didn't think so.

Somehow I can't imagine you getting married – no offense intended or anything. Can't see you in a fancy dress, caravan of carriages heading towards the cathedral, the wedding party, anything like that. You'll have to keep me updated on this issue, but I feel that between the bachelorette (is that even a word?) Seléne and the married Seléne, the difference could be summed up in one phrase – interaction with a husband. Nothing else will change, at least nothing that I can think of. Maybe you're a hidden romantic and I just don't know it (but I'm pretty sure that's Madelein). Maybe you already have an affair with some dashing dandy who can ignore your, well, somewhat unappetizing appearance, focus on your beautiful soul and has already proposed to you, but you haven't worked up the nerve to tell your parents yet!

There is absolutely nothing wrong with ambition, as long as one doesn't let it cloud one's moral compass. A girl can dream, can't she? Anyways, the United States of America isn't much closer to perfection than we are – they simply had the chance to create a democracy and they went for it. Slavery is still in place in the Americas. Poverty is just as much of a problem in the Americas as it is here in France. Their democracy versus our monarchy was, is, simply a stroke of luck, nothing more. However, right now the issue isn't as much an issue of rights as it is an issue of the way society views women. It wouldn't matter if France suddenly became a democracy and women were given the vote and all the other rights of men, as long as the people of France still believe that women are delicate creatures who need to be coddled, we are not free. We cannot change the views of society; however, we can change ourselves. With the change in us, we can change others, and then we might see a change in the world.

Thérèse? That little brat never told me that she was coming home (but then again, she rarely responds to letters.) I didn't know that she was coming back to Bordeaux until I saw her at a party the Meyettes were hosting. She could at least have given me some warning that she was coming! And she explained the nature of this spat, as you put it, with her husband. I don't know if she's explained it to you yet, but, well, she was accused of having an affair with Blaise' (very flirtatious) secretary, which she did not have. The secretary came along to Bordeaux as well, and they're staying with Josseline until it blows over. Honestly, I wish you could come down and visit us, but I suppose your aversion to travel supersedes all of my wishes.

Until next time,

Alianne"

Being too impatient to wait for the ink to dry on the paper, she sprinkles a pinch of blotting sand over the letter and shakes it off, folding it up and sealing it with some red wax. She then moves on to the next letter – it's from Alistair.

"August the 16th, 1830

Paris, France

Alianne,

You and your women's rights. My God, Alianne. I do apologize for what appears to be callousness, but this is not the most important thing to be thinking of right now. Yes, I do suppose you are allowed to dream of equality for women, but that is about the only thing you should be focusing on. Dreaming. Why? Because, in your position right now, you have the ear of one of the most influential, if not necessarily high-ranked, people in Bordeaux. Your father is doing very well, and in fact holds at least a quarter of the workforce in the city. Talk to him, Alianne. Look at his ways – how he treats his workers, those who buy from him, those who he buys from. See if you can change them, if you need to be changed.

To the subject of my so-called 'shyness'. Most women that I have met are much more airheaded and have much less to say that is actually meaningful. I am not 'shy' around women, I simply do not wish to talk to them*, for good reason, too. It has been brought to my attention (by some lady friends of Combeferre's) that I am good-looking and would have many mistresses if only I tried. I do not have any appetite for that sort of thing, as I am repeatedly reiterating. The ladies are already swooning over me just for my (apparently) pretty face. Charm? I do not think so, Alianne. There is no use.

And, Alianne, for the record, we do not allow any women into our meetings. Not now, not ever. It's not my rule – it's Jehan Prouvaire's, and I do not believe it needs to be turned down. He thinks that the matters that we discuss are too lofty for ladies, and I quite agree. For most ladies, anyways. There is no need for you to come visit me in Paris – your ideas are already here. At least, Courfeyrac is telling many of the ideas you express in your letters to him, and I am too, as some of them are quite beneficial.

Alistair

Postscript: *Except you. -AME"

Unconsciously, she smiles as she reads the letter, more with the simple joy of seeing his handwriting than with the actual content of his letter; she will never admit it, not even to herself, but she misses him.

"August 20th, 1830

Bordeaux, France

Alistair,

All right, I see how it is. You think we are just naturally below you in the social order, right? Yes? No? Well, that's what I gathered from that first paragraph. And, well, I resent this, Alistair. I really do. Yes, I know that my father is very influential, what with his connections and his trade, but it depends on the problem we are trying to solve. Yes, I have been to my father's office (and his factory since he turned to manufacturing cloth), and no, there is nothing that I believe needs to be my father's business at least. Which means that I can turn my attention onto this issue. What we have to realize, though, is that much of our problems lie in society, not in the government, as one could well see from the abundance of pesky royalists in the upper class. Or the Bonapartists. Or really any of those groups in France. But, well, say if we became a democracy and gave everyone the vote. I mean everyone – the élite, middle-class, the poor, women, those not of French ethnicity. If this happened all of a sudden – say, in the next year – I predict that less than half of those who had the vote would actually use it. If you think about it, women make up half the population in the world, and I would think that most women wouldn't vote for fear of criticism, being judged, or simply being wrong, because they're not used to having a say in anything. Many of the poor might be too busy to pay any attention to politics whatsoever, and of course colored people would still be slaves (unless you would prefer we ban slavery as well) so their masters might not let them vote. Note that this is a totally hypothetical situation, but you get my drift, I hope. What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't focus too much on trying to change the government instead of trying to change the people. Personally, I believe that revolutions achieve next to nothing compared to what could be achieved simply by informing the people first.

Moving on. Alistair, we all have things we do not wish to do – talking to women should be the least of your worries. In an entirely platonic way, let me tell you that you are, in fact, very good-looking, and could potentially draw many women to these meetings that you hold. But of course, this Jehan Prouvaire (what kind of crazy literature student spells "Jean" "Jehan"?)'s rules must prevail. So you're saying that if I happened to come to Paris to, say, visit Thérèse, and happened to stop by the Café Musain, you wouldn't let me into the upstairs meeting. All right then, that's good to know. I'll make sure not to come visit you in Paris at all.

Joking, Alistair. Joking. Well, it's nice to know that at least my ideas are being spread…

Alianne"

She blots this letter as well, folding it up and sealing it before carrying it and the other one down the hall to her father's study to slip it in the large pile of letters that her parents write, mostly business from her father and missives to relatives from her mother. They don't know that she writes so many letters but she sees no reason to inform them of this, as she's always the first one to ask for the daily mail anyways.

Suddenly she hears someone calling her name – it's their housekeeper, Madame Loussont. "Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle Alianne? It's a gentleman calling for you. Come on down to the parlor, please." She does so, and while she is going down the stairs, she passes the portly matron, who comments, "Have you told your parents yet that you are seeing someone? I'm not entirely sure if they would approve. He doesn't look so…respectable, if I may be so bold."

Confused, Alianne asks, "Did he give his name?"

"Nathanael something. Coufée, Ferac, something like that. Dressed like a workingman," Madame Loussont tutted as she continued her way up the stairs.

Alianne stops for a second, leaning against the banister, and rubs her temples. What on earth is Courfeyrac doing here? However, the only way for her to find out is to go down and ask him, so reluctantly, she goes on to the parlor.

Courfeyrac's leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, either too polite or too bored to wait in the actual parlor for her. When he sees her, he stands up straight, smiling cockily. "Hello, Alianne."

"What are you doing here?" she demands.

"What do you think I'm doing? I wanted to say hi," he smirks, "but your pesky housekeeper directed me to the servants' entrance. How entirely cliché and romance novel-ish is that?"

"Too much," she agrees. "But you know, you could have dressed in marginally more, well, fitting clothes for one of even your station. It's not like you're actually in the working class, you're just a student."

He shrugs. "Well, um, our flight from Paris wasn't exactly planned as well as I thought it would be, and I neglected to pack my finer clothes."

"But what about those you wore at the party?" she persists.

"Borrowed from Josseline's brother. He's pretty nice, all things considered," he remarks.

"All things considered? You should be grateful that he is even letting you stay at Joss's house! He doesn't know you at all and the only things he's ever heard about you are not good things, seeing as that you're only here because you've been accused of flirting with your (perhaps former) employer's wife…" Alianne shrugged. "Which, frankly, is exactly what I would expect of you."

Feigning a hurt expression, Courfeyrac replied, "I've got some tact, at least. And I'm a law student. That's got to count for something."

"No one likes lawyers."

"But everyone needs them!"

"That doesn't mean that anyone actually likes them!"

Mercifully, this argument is cut short as Alianne hears her mother calling for her. "Alianne! Where are you?"

"In the parlor, Maman!" she yells back as she heard the pitter-pat as Elienor Rousseau descends the stairs.

"Your father and I would like to talk to you, now that you're almost twenty," she pokes her head into the parlor, where Alianne and Courfeyrac are now sitting (actually Courfeyrac rises as soon as he sees a lady), "about arranging an…oh," she cuts herself off, startled by the presence of a strange young man in her house.

Noticing the awkwardness (and Courfeyrac's almost-defiant stare), Alianne speaks up. "Um, Maman, this is Nathanael Courfeyrac, one of Thérèse's and Alistair's friends. Courfeyrac, this is my mother. No, we are not romantically attached in any way," she adds hastily to her mother's glare.

Elienor sighs. "Alianne, your father and I need to talk to you privately. If you would be so kind, Mr…"

"Courfeyrac," he says, bowing in a ridiculous fashion he must think looks gallant. "Don't worry, madame, I know when I'm not wanted. I can leave now, if you wish."

Mortified, Madame Rousseau holds up her hands. " No, no, no, you can stay. I just need to, well, borrow Alianne for a moment. If you will, Alianne…" she indicates the doorway.

Alianne steps outside with Madame Rousseau and meekly follows as her mother leads her upstairs to her father's study, where Monsieur Rousseau is waiting, sitting at his desk and rifling through some papers. When he hears the door shut behind his wife and daughter, he looks up. "Ah, Alianne."

She crosses her arms resolutely. "What on earth is this all about?"

He glances at his wife. "You haven't told her yet?" She shakes her head, and he groans. "All right then, well, Alianne, we've decided that you are quite old enough to, well, to marry."

"And I suppose you've already found a suitable husband for me, have you?" Alianne asks, intrigued by this new turn of events despite herself.

Her mother nods. "Yes, we have."

"Is he someone I know, by any chance?" Alianne continues.

"He is. As a matter of fact, he is the older brother of one of your close friends," her father says.

Rolling her eyes, Alianne sighs. "Mon Dieu, that's going to be awkward. It's not Nicolas Coté, is it? Or Marcelin Meyette?"

"Language, Alianne," her mother says automatically.

M. Rousseau shakes his head. "No, not Nicolas or Marcelin."

"Then who is it?"

"Christophe Alanis."

"What?! How…have you talked to his parents?" Alianne suddenly remembers Sélene's offhand comment in her letter – "That one with the older brother both you and Madelein find quite attractive, right?"

"It's all arranged – there is nothing for you to worry about, dear. We just wanted to make sure that you knew about this," her mother finishes as she ushers Alianne out the door. "Now if you'll be so kind, go usher your gentleman friend out the door and tell him that you are no longer, well, eligible."

Christophe Alanis…mon Dieu, this is like a dream come true! Alianne thinks. I can't believe it! Then, damn, why does everything interesting happen after I seal my letters?

After a day spent in lectures to which he paid absolutely no attention whatsoever, Alistair is surprised to see that there are two letters waiting in his room. He's pretty sure it hasn't been that long since his mother sent him a letter, and there is no one else that ever sends him letters besides Alianne.

Turns out they're both from her. One is much smaller than the other (and more messily folded and sealed), so he assumes that this one is the more urgent one. And he's right – when he opens it he finds only a short scribbled note.

"August 30th

Just found out a bit of news I thought you might like to hear.
Wait for it…
I'm engaged. To Christophe Alanis.

Alianne"

He doesn't know how exactly to react to this "bit of news", but he doesn't think that the news is favorable towards him, at any rate. From what he knows of Christophe Alanis (and he does know plenty, having grown up in the same general society as him), Alistair doesn't think that Christophe is going to take too kindly to his future wife still keeping up a regular correspondence with a man she's always going to be good friends with. And he is going to miss Alianne's letters (except for those long ones where she goes on and on about totally inconsequential things).

While he's at it, he decides that it can't hurt to read and answer the other one – after all, it's only six of the clock and he's not meeting Charles Combeferre for dinner until half past seven. Once again, he composes his response as he reads.

"August the 23rd, 1830

Paris, France

Alianne,

No, no, no, no. That is not what I meant at all. Alianne, would you kindly stop trying to read into what I am saying? I do not think as much over these letters as you (probably) do. How can there be nothing in need of change at your father's business? None at all? Impossible. For what it's worth, however, I don't think that you are ever going to pay any heed to me, but let me just say this. You need to change what is in your immediate circle before you can change, say, even just your city. And, by the way, informing people won't do anything by itself. What do you think we do in our free time? Sit around, drink, and play poker? The people, at least those of Paris, are informed. But information is not enough. We need action, and that is why revolutions are needed. Yes, I know, violence is not always the answer, but in some cases it's the only way to go. The people might change, but just because they do doesn't mean the government will.

I would like to drop this subject of me and women. But Prouvaire's rule does make sense – we really don't want Courfeyrac coming in with one of his five thousand ladyfriends on his arm, now, do we? Speaking of Courfeyrac, do you know where he has gone, what with the constant correspondence the two of you keep up? He hasn't been showing up at the Café Musain or Corinth, and I'm getting worried.

And would you like to explain to me exactly why and how you are engaged? And if you've planned a wedding date yet? And if I have an obligation to come? Because I really don't want to come to a wedding. There's too much to be done here in Paris for me to be frivolous and go back to Bordeaux.

Alistair"

He folds this letter up and puts it in his jacket pocket, aiming to go on a walk before he has to meet Combeferre. Courfeyrac has told him of a specific park that the Pontmercy child often walks in, and seeing as that he (Pontmercy, that is, not Courfeyrac) is relatively cultured, Alistair thinks he is going to try that park as well. Not that he cares about gardening or anything. Not at all.

Another note from tWAtD:

That…took a really long time to write. And I do apologize for that, but I honestly just could not find the time. And I don't think I'll be updating any faster later on, what with the end of the school year and exams approaching…:P I HATE SCHOOL WITH ALL OF MY TINY LITTLE HEART.

On another note…I think I messed up the ages of the Amis because the part where they are introduced in the book is actually before 1832, but I read them as in 1832. They will not be changed, however, because I am just too lazy. :D

READ, FAVORITE, FOLLOW, AND REVIEW PLEASE! :D

- tWAtD or Kestrel